


learn to love the skies I'm under

by LinneaKou



Series: strange beasts (Hopeless Wanderer) [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Animal Transformation, Anxiety, Curses, Depression, Dogs, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Magical Realism, Miscommunication, Missing Persons, Presumed Dead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-17
Updated: 2017-08-31
Packaged: 2018-11-15 02:14:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 37,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11221161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LinneaKou/pseuds/LinneaKou
Summary: The day after the Sochi GPF banquet, Katsuki Yuuri disappears without a trace.The day after the Sochi GPF banquet, Viktor Nikiforov finds a stray poodle and takes it home with him.These two events are, oddly enough, connected.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Puppy Love](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10540119) by [Phyona](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phyona/pseuds/Phyona). 



> I read "Puppy Love" and adored it, and then said to myself "I bet I can make it about 80% more absurd and 200% angstier." And then this happened.
> 
> Many thanks to Gabapple and Ingrid for the beta work they did. This wouldn't be turning out half as well without their help. Go read their fics if you haven't already.
> 
> Super huge thanks to the YOI potates chat for all the cheerleading. I seriously needed it.
> 
> Title lovingly pulled from the Mumford and Sons' song "Hopeless Wanderer".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: this fic contains portrayals of anxiety and depression based off of my own very real experiences. If reading this kind of stuff triggers you, you may want to skip this fic. Please take care of yourself!

The day after his first GPF banquet, Yuuri wakes up with a monster hangover and a throat drier than the Sahara. His phone is buzzing insistently by his head, most likely Celestino trying to wake him up so they can start the trek back to Detroit. It probably isn’t Phichit or Mari or his parents. Hopefully. He doesn’t know, he wouldn’t know. He’s not going to answer it.

Instead, he rolls out of bed, not even caring that he’s still in the suit from last night. If he’s going to face this horrible, horrible day, he needs some good, strong coffee. Maybe the hotel restaurant will have something that will hit that spot.

He pockets his room key and opens the door to his and Celestino’s hotel room, but stops short when he nearly runs into the girl standing outside of the doorway.

“Uh.”

She’s just a few inches shorter than him, with dark hair and violet eyes that stand out starkly against her pale skin. She’s wearing the uniform of the hotel staff, and she’s glaring at him like he’s scum that she’s scraped off the bottom of her shoe.

Her lips curl into a sneer. “Dog.”

Yuuri blinks. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” she snarls in a pronounced Russian accent, jabbing him in the chest. “You’re a worthless nobody _dog_ , how dare you taint our Vitya with your… _your_ —” and then she dissolves into a tirade of angry Russian insults, according to Yuuri’s very limited knowledge of the language.

Yuuri is aware he’s probably making a face that could be taken as very distasteful, but he’s genuinely off-put by the girl’s fury and it’s way too early for this. It doesn’t help that he’s nursing the mother of all hangovers. He’s reminded strongly of being cornered by the other Yuri in the men’s room. “Are you Russian teenagers all this angry?” he finally manages to ask.

“You are stupid, worthless _trash_ ,” the girl repeats, her eyes glimmering dangerously. Her tone makes him stand up straight, makes his bones shake and vibrate in his skin and his limbs go numb. “Know your place, dog.”

The world spins around him and that’s the last thing he remembers.

 

The next thing he knows, he’s running through the hotel hallway in a panic.

Why is he scared? He doesn’t know-- all he remembers is an angry fan of Viktor’s cornering him right outside his hotel room. What happened between then and now?

He skids to a halt in confusion when two things occur to him: one, he’s been running around on all fours; two, everyone seems a whole lot taller than him right now. More so than they should be even if he were scrambling around on hands and knees.

“Oooh,” one of the girls to his left says, grabbing her companion and speaking in rapid Russian. She makes to squat down next to him, which kicks him into high gear and he’s off running again, except something is _very, very wrong_ \--

He skids to a halt in front of the elevators when he sees himself in the reflective surface. Not truly _him_ , but…

_Vicchan?!_

It’s impossible. Mari had told him over the phone that Vicchan had died earlier on in the week. But that’s who he sees when he stares straight ahead into the mirror of the elevator doors.

The miniature poodle staring back at him is much darker on second glance. Closer to his own hair color. And while the reflection is blurry thanks to the dullness of the doors, he can still sort of see his own eyes set into the dog’s fluffy face.

_What the hell?!_

He’s almost afraid to look down at himself, but he forces himself to, and he isn’t sure if he’s surprised or not when he sees two black paws instead of his hands.

He feels himself hyperventilating, his world narrowing down to the fact that _he has been turned into a dog_ and _he is not dreaming_ , so he misses when the elevator dings and the doors slide open.

A familiar voice exclaims in surprise, and Yuuri is snapped out of his panic attack when _Viktor fucking Nikiforov_ stoops down to look at him with a soft expression on his face. He holds out a hand, presumably to let Yuuri sniff him, _like a normal dog would_.

Yuuri is too stunned to do so, so Viktor takes that as assent and pets him on the head. It makes Yuuri feel like he’s stepped into one of his family’s hot springs. There’s a weird wiggling sensation near his ass... oh God, it’s his _tail_ . He’s got a tail and it’s _wagging_ and he can't make it _stop—_

Viktor says something overjoyed in Russian and scoops Yuuri up, carefully cradling his back legs (and even though Yuuri knows Viktor wouldn’t drop a dog, it still quells a squirm of fear that instinctively comes out) and settling Yuuri against his shoulder. He keeps talking in Russian, and Yuuri can only catch a few scattered words: “cute” and “dog” and “puppy” and “home.”

Behind him, Yuri Plisetsky makes a noise of disgust, eyeing Yuuri with the same sort of expression that he’d had when he corned Yuuri in the men’s room at the GPF. He glares at Viktor and fires back in irritated Russian, and Yuuri can’t even begin to decipher what the teen has said before Viktor starts scratching behind Yuuri’s newly-fluffy ear. It’s quite distracting, and nearly lulls Yuuri into a trance. Against his first instinct, his body starts to relax into Viktor’s arms before his brain can even register the absurdity of the scene.

Viktor’s coach steps out of the elevator, giving Viktor an exasperated look, and gestures at the hotel front desk as he tells his skater something that Yuuri can guess at pretty well.

Viktor protests, hugging Yuuri even closer to his body, and Yuuri can see the tiniest vein popping in his coach’s forehead. Clearly, Viktor can as well, because he gives in and steps out of the way of the elevator and makes his way across the hallway and out into the lobby, coming to a stop in front of the receptionist.

There’s a quick conversation between Viktor and the woman at check-in, and whatever she says makes Viktor unhappy, going by the way his grip on Yuuri’s body tightens. The woman smiles at Yuuri and pats his head, and then Viktor turns and heads back to the Russian team.

The coach seems resigned, but there’s a moment of reshuffling and readjusting before Yuuri finds himself whisked out of the hotel, nestled in the arms of his longtime idol, before he can even come to grips with it.

_Wait. Wait!! Wait, no, I can’t leave--!_

He finally begins to squirm and struggle in Viktor’s arms, but Viktor shushes him and talks to him in a soothing tone as he climbs into the back of a waiting cab.

Yuuri tries to speak, tries to beg or yell or cry, but all that he manages is a pathetic yip and some whines. Viktor resettles Yuuri on his lap and continues to pet him in an attempt to comfort him. It’s all for nothing, because Yuuri can’t understand him at all.

Instead, clamoring thoughts clash for his attention in his already ringing skull: _how will he change back? What did Celestino think, that Yuuri ran away? How will he let his family know what happened to him?_ But it’s all a moot point. He can’t speak, he can’t make himself understood. There’s very little that Yuuri can do as the cab pulls away from the curb and the hotel disappears out the rear window.

 

It’s only after Viktor arrives at the airport, finangles a dog carrier, and stuffs Yuuri into it before boarding his flight back to St. Petersburg when Yuuri realizes he’s a colossal idiot.

Why didn’t he try spelling out with his paw what he wanted to say? He knows Viktor can at least read enough English to be conversational. And okay, maybe Viktor would be freaked out at first, but surely…

Surely _what?_

What could he do? What could either of them do? Somehow, Yuuri’s been turned into an actual dog. He still has no idea how it happened. What the hell could Viktor do for him?

Well, okay, he could let Celestino and Yuuri’s parents know he was okay and being taken care of. Yuuri spares a moment from his panicking to picture his parents welcoming him back home via Celestino with a carrier cage… this day just keeps getting worse and worse.

But no matter how weird it would get, Yuuri has to establish communication with Viktor. It’s the first step to figuring out how to undo this entire mess.

Whatever. At the moment, Yuuri is stuck in a tiny dog carrier wedged into the legroom of the extra seat Viktor has purchased, and Viktor is asleep judging by the even, deep breathing Yuuri can hear.

Yuuri is alone with his thoughts for the three-hour flight back to Viktor’s hometown. He curls up as tightly as he can against the side of the carrier opposite the grate and tries to sleep, but he can’t manage it.

He’s a dog. He’s a fucking _dog_ . No matter how dire the situation gets, he keeps coming back to that. It’s terrifying and weird and… well, it’s weird. That covers it. No, actually, it’s _beyond weird_.

It’s into the second hour when the thing that’s been nudging at the back of his mind comes roaring into full view. _That girl from the hotel!_

She’d called him a dog. Multiple times. Said he’d ruined Viktor somehow. (And what the fuck was she talking about?) And then he'd woken up and started running around on four legs.

He’d read enough fantasy novels and seen enough anime to know that there was probably a correlation. Okay. So he might have run into some kind of a magician. (A magician? A witch? _She'd turned him into a dog--_ )

How the hell had he pissed her off enough to… curse him? Hex him? Ensorcell him? Curse. This is a curse. He’s a dog, his idol has decided to take him home like the platonic ideal of a stray puppy that he found because _that is exactly what he is right now_ , and it’s all because of a pissed-off Viktor Nikiforov fangirl.

Maybe the key to undoing it is to figure out what he’d done to make her angry. She’d been waiting outside of his hotel room for him, it was personal. It had to be.

He’d never seen her before that morning, but she was most likely hotel staff. As kind of shitty as it was, he didn’t often pay attention to hotel staffers at the competitions he went to. He was too busy trying to not dissolve into a panic attack every five minutes.

So in the time between his and Celestino’s arrival in Sochi earlier on in the week and that morning, he’d done something to piss her off. And it had involved Viktor.

Viktor had taken the gold medal at the GPF. No issues there. They’d barely interacted other than the other night, what with the “commemorative photo” thing. And Yuuri doubted that the girl had been there for that.

If only he could remember the banquet…

Viktor had been there, he recalls. He’d seen him a few times, circling the room and getting ambushed by ISU personnel and sponsors. Yuuri had tried to keep to himself that night, and except for the steady intake of alcohol he hadn’t really interacted with anyone… as far as he knew.

 _Oh god_ . He’d gotten _piss drunk at the GPF banquet in front of everyone_.

What had he _done?!_

Try as he might, he can’t conjure it. He must have been blackout drunk. He hadn’t even _known_ he could get that blackout drunk. Phichit has some embarrassing videos from the times he’d gotten drunk enough at college parties to do shit like sign up for pole-dancing lessons and accept ridiculous dares, but Yuuri at least partially remembers those incidents. He cannot recall a single moment from the banquet save for arriving and wanting the floor to open up and swallow him whole. And the champagne. Lots… and lots… of champagne.

Yuuri can’t help the pathetic whine that escapes him, because this is officially his worst day ever, beating out the FS day of the GPF by a long shot. This is hell. He’d died and been sent to purgatory. That’s the only explanation for this.

He startles when Viktor taps on the carrier, speaking gently to him in Russian again. He’s probably trying to comfort Yuuri, but it really doesn’t help that Yuuri’s not in any shape to try and decipher a language that he barely knows how to use to ask for the bathroom.

There’s a moment where he can hear shuffling outside of the crate, and then Viktor flicks open the cage and reaches in.

Yuuri recoils, because he doesn’t know if he can handle this. What if the curse gets stronger if Viktor pays attention to him? He’s not being rational, but then again he has no idea how anything works. Besides, he doesn’t know if he’s capable of keeping himself together if Viktor manages to do what he’s trying to do.

A female voice - probably a flight attendant, rather authoritative - rings out from behind Viktor, and he responds in a light, cheerful tone, continuing to pet the curly fleece down Yuuri’s back, and _damn_ if that doesn’t feel nice.

This is pathetic. He’s melting into goop because his athletic idol and personal hero is petting him.

And also, _he’s a dog_ . There’s always that. _Can’t forget that._

Viktor continues talking to Yuuri as he pets him, and the almost musical cadence of his tone, no matter that Yuuri can’t understand him, puts him at ease.

Dimly, Yuuri is aware that he’s being lulled to sleep. The rhythmic stroking coupled with Viktor’s soothing stream of Russian is almost hypnotic. He doesn’t know why he feels so safe right now, when he should be panicking. Well, he _would_ be panicking. But…

But he doesn’t even get to finish that thought as his weariness finally drops over him like a blanket, and he slips into slumber to the siren’s song of his idol’s voice.

 

Takeoff and landing is hard on Yuuri’s dog-ears, which are so much more sensitive than normal. He can’t help but make pained noises as they land, after he’s awakened by the ding of the intercom and the announcement (which doesn’t take a genius to guess, especially since Viktor closes the latch on the cage and audibly buckles his seatbelt again.)

Viktor managed to get them into first class seats, so they disembark sooner than Yuuri would have expected - but then again, he only ever flies coach, so what does he know?

Viktor is careful not to jostle the carrier as they deplane, and while they’re waiting for Viktor’s luggage to come around on the belt, the rest of the Russian team gathers around them.

Mila Babicheva squats down to coo at Yuuri, glancing up at Viktor to ask him something. Yuuri wishes he’d taken the time to really, _really_ learn Russian, because he hates not knowing what anyone’s saying.

Yuri Plisetsky makes a noise that’s probably some kind of scathing remark, and Mila titters at him as she continues to poke her fingers through the cage. She smells nice, like floral soap and some kind of fruity body spray. She sounds nice too, not cooing in a high-pitched annoying way but in a genuine and cheerful way.

Viktor answers her, and Yuuri hears mention of Makkachin. He starts feeling nervous again.

Oh god, Viktor is taking him home with him. Viktor is taking Yuuri home. And he already has a dog. A dog that Yuuri will have to interact with. He doesn’t know How To Dog. Oh god.

Viktor makes a noise and then the cage swings slightly as he moves to grab his baggage, and that’s it. Yuuri’s going home with Viktor _fucking_ Nikiforov as his new dog.

Oh _god_.

 

When Viktor sets down the carrier inside of his apartment and opens the cage door, Yuuri is too terrified to come out. Viktor kneels down and tries to coax him out, but after a minute he takes the hint and decides to let Yuuri venture out on his own.

That’s when Makkachin decides to stick her head into the opening to get a good sniff at him.

Yuuri goes utterly still, like a rabbit cornered by a hound as the standard-sized poodle snuffles at him, and he can tell when she picks up on it. It’s a subtle shift in her body language and the noises she makes, but she’s interpreting his reactions as submission. And why wouldn’t he be, since this is her territory and she’s the older dog, as far as she knows.

He is definitely not coming out of the crate now. He is going to stay there and starve to death, or maybe he’ll randomly turn back at the stroke of midnight and… that could be awkward. Okay. Crap.

Eventually Makkachin gets bored of investigating him and wanders off to tackle Viktor. And thanks to some innate understanding of How To Dog that’s only just kicking in, Yuuri picks up on the intent right away.

She’s scenting Viktor, staking her claim.

Well, that’s fine by Yuuri. He doesn’t have a claim on Viktor at all. He doesn’t _want_ one. He wants to be human and go back to Detroit and and finish the season and retire from skating and finish his degree and go back to Hasetsu and fade into obscurity, in that order.

He curls into a tight little ball at the back of the carrier and buries his nose in the fluff on his flank, closing his eyes tightly and trying to breathe. He can feel his heart pounding in his chest, and hyperventilating won’t help him now. Oh god. He’s shaking.

That witch couldn’t have at least let him be a dog without his anxiety? It seems he’s to be unlucky no matter what form he's in.

If he were human still, he’d be crying again. But instead, the shaking becomes more pronounced. He’s breathing faster, more harshly. He can’t change the downward spiral of his thoughts as they grow darker and darker with every passing second. There’s no Phichit to text, no Celestino to talk him out of his panic, no distraction, nothing.

 _Why did this happen to me?_ It’s a selfish thought, there are people in the world starving or dying and he obviously isn’t - in fact, he could reasonably say his life has been remarkably privileged - but honestly today’s been such a conga line of awful that Yuuri just wants everything to stop, just for a minute, so he can catch his breath and be calm for a minute, but that’s not going to happen because maybe God hates him or something--

Viktor’s voice, much closer than before, jerks him out of his panic. Viktor is reaching into the cage, catching Yuuri around the tummy and tugging him out. In a blind panic, Yuuri thrashes in Viktor’s grasp and nips at the man’s hand.

Viktor yelps in pain and withdraws, but then reaches back in, avoiding Yuuri’s face and managing to pull him out.

Oh god. Yuuri bit him. _Yuuri bit Viktor Nikiforov_. Oh god, don’t dogs that bite people get put down--

But Viktor cradles Yuuri against his chest and shushes him, stroking down his head and back, and talks to him in that same soothing tone. Yuuri can’t stop shaking, and Viktor resettles himself to sit against the wall and scratches behind Yuuri’s ears.

Makkachin’s nose pokes at his side, and he recoils. She switches to sniffing at his backside, which doesn’t help at all and is _mortifying_ even though Yuuri knows what she’s doing, and she crawls onto Viktor’s lap once she’s finished. Viktor laughs softly and repositions her so that she isn’t shoving Yuuri off. She sniffs at Yuuri again, and then to his utter shock, rubs against him softly. Like a mother dog trying to comfort a small puppy.

Which is kind of how it feels anyway, as Viktor lowers Yuuri down to his thigh and continues to stroke him. “Makkachin,” he says, along with a spattering of Russian, and then gestures to Yuuri. “Yukkachin.”

Wait. Did Viktor seriously just… name him?

 _But that’s not my name!_ He wants to scream. _I’m Yuuri! You don’t know me but I’m a person! I want to be Yuuri again!_

But what comes out is another pitiful noise, and Makkachin noses at him in concern. He lets her, because he’s still shaking and breathing funny, and Viktor is still petting him, and he just wants this horrible feeling to go away.

 _I want to be your equal_ , he thinks, looking up at Viktor’s concerned face. _I wanted to meet you as me, not like this!_

But he can’t speak, and he doesn’t think he could manage to try and figure out how to right right now, and Viktor’s hands threading through his fleece feels so good.

They sit like that for a long time before Yuuri can feel his stomach churning, and Viktor laughs and sets Yuuri down on the floor before climbing to his feet and heading towards the kitchenette. Makkachin follows excitedly, glancing back at Yuuri before prancing around the counter as Viktor stoops under to open a cabinet. He emerges with a scooper filled with dog food, high-quality from the smell of it, and makes Makkachin sit so he can pour it into her food bowl by the wall. He looks up and sees that Yuuri hasn’t moved, so he calls out and clicks his tongue, reminiscent of the way Yuuri used to call to Vicchan. It’s so similar that it makes his heart ache.

Yuuri watches, unsure of how to react, as Viktor pulls a bowl from one of the cabinets above the sink and fills it with more of the dog food, setting it down on the opposite side of the kitchen and gesturing at it with a smile. He frowns when Yuuri doesn’t budge, and Makkachin finishes up her dinner before deciding to not let Yuuri’s bowl go to waste. Viktor has to pull the larger dog away and has her retreat to her dog bed in the living space.

Yuuri flinches and tries to shrink back against the wall as Viktor picks him up and carries him into the kitchen, setting him down next to the makeshift food bowl. He mimes eating it, but… it isn’t _right_ , even if Yuuri’s currently a dog. He doesn’t want dog food, even if it smells really good. He’s pretty sure that he would eat some pretty disgusting stuff at that moment, which doesn’t help any.

Viktor is talking again, presumably encouraging him, and after a few minutes Yuuri’s _so hungry_ that he gives in. He’ll hate himself for it later, but he can’t ignore the hunger pangs that come from not having eaten since the previous day’s dinner. It’s a shock he’s not woozy.

It’s not bad. Yuuri wonders if it’s because he’s got a dog’s palate now, or if it’s because he’s starving. And, honestly, his diet has been so messed up lately what with the binging and the previous regimented meal plan he’d been on before the season that he’s not even surprised to see that he basically scarfed the dog food down when his nose hits the bottom of the bowl and there’s only a few more pellets left.

Viktor praises him, Yuuri can tell it’s praise by the tone. And then Viktor picks him up and kisses him on the head, and Yuuri hates himself for how pathetically happy it makes him. He can feel his tail wagging again, and Viktor cuddles him a little more before putting him back down and beckoning him into the living space.

Makkachin soon recaptures Viktor’s attention with a rope toy, and while he laughingly plays tug-of-war with her, Yuuri settles in the middle of the hardwood space between the kitchen and the living room. He watches as Makkachin wrenches the rope out of Viktor’s grasp and dances away, before flipping around and pouncing on her owner again for another round.

Yuuri is again so strongly reminded of Vicchan that it hurts. He’s overcome with another wave of melancholy, so overwhelming that he’s startled when Makkachin drops the rope toy in front of him and nudges it at him, crouching in an invitation to play.

Yuuri looks up at her, at her wagging tail and her bright eyes, but can’t bring himself to move. He’s surprised when she immediately picks up on it and starts nudging at him with her nose, dropping the crouch and huffing in concern.

Viktor calls out for Makkachin, and she leaves Yuuri be and wanders back into the living room. Yuuri flinches when Viktor says “Yukkachin” again, because it feels so wrong, and he closes his eyes to block out the sight of Viktor’s worried face.

He hears Viktor sigh, and then mutter something in Russian. When Yuuri sneaks a glance up into the living room he sees Viktor settling on the couch with Makkachin in his lap.

Suddenly, there’s a clawing desire to be there, to be surrounded by that warmth and cradled safely in between Viktor and Makkachin. He knows, with almost perfect certainty, that they would probably welcome him into the cuddle pile. And yet, he can’t bring himself to do it.

Now that there aren’t the gnawing hunger pangs to distract him, now that Makkachin isn’t trying to engage him and Viktor isn’t petting him, all of his worries come rushing back to him. He absolutely cannot give in to the urge to do any more dog things. He needs to figure out a way to tell Viktor who he really is. His best bet is spelling it out physically, but he needs to figure out how.

He’s formulating a plan when his eyes start to droop again, and even though the floor is hard and slightly cold, he can’t stop himself from dozing off. The apartment is so quiet and he’s comfortably full, and pushing away his anxiety with his plans only served to silence his whirring mind and lull him into a semi-trance.

Distantly, he wonders again what Celestino is thinking right now. It’s well past the time that he should have left for the flight back to the US, surely Celestino has noticed by now that Yuuri’s missing.

Or… what if he hasn’t? What if Celestino had come to the conclusion that Yuuri had run away from his failure at the Grand Prix Final, and isn't even bothering to search for him?

Now that the thought’s in his head, it starts making sense in a horrible, painful way. Yuuri doesn’t have a habit of storming off after a bad day, but he is known to disappear when he’s not happy with himself. But the difference is that he usually takes his phone with him and ends up at the nearest rink. He’s fairly predictable, whether it be in daily life or on the ice. Celestino’s been working with him since Yuuri arrived in Detroit well over four years ago, surely he knows this isn’t normal for Yuuri?

But what if yesterday went _so bad_ that Celestino isn’t surprised Yuuri might break his habits? He knows he arrived at the banquet with his coach, even if he doesn’t remember leaving it, but surely Celestino had to have witnessed whatever went down last night. What if Yuuri had embarrassed himself so badly that Celestino wouldn’t be surprised if Yuuri ran away from him?

The possibility of no one searching for him or even caring that he’s missing made Yuuri curl in on himself, a miserable ball of anxiety. So, not really all that different from normal, then.

Maybe he’s better off like this. The thought gives him a cold ache in his chest, but he can’t deny what a spectacular failure he’s been as a skater. God knows he’ll probably be stuck in this slump for awhile, no doubt ruining any future performances. He could see it now: after the embarrassment of the Grand Prix Final, he’d go on to bomb at Nationals and then possibly not even make it into the Four Continents or Worlds. What a fitting way to end his skating career. Thoroughly mundane, dying with a whimper.

Viktor, though. Viktor was still on top of the world, even as he edged closer to turning thirty. Viktor wasn’t slowing down. If Yuuri were still a person, he might take inspiration from that.

Viktor is kind, has been good to Yuuri thus far. Maybe it’s a lucky thing that the girl from Sochi turned Yuuri into a poodle as opposed to another breed, since poodles tend to be expensive and not often let loose onto the street. He isn’t quite sure what the rule of thumb regarding strays was in Russia, but Viktor had decided to keep the random dog that he’d stumbled upon in the hotel and that means that Yuuri at least has a guarantee of food and a roof over his head.

Maybe he should just… give up on trying to communicate with Viktor. Maybe he should just accept his new lot in life. He’d wanted to meet Viktor, be a worthy competitor on the ice; it’s only fitting, in a twisted way, that after the worst competition of his life he would end up as his hero’s new pet.

He’s again pulled out of his dark thoughts by the sudden sound of movement, and he shakes himself awake as Viktor squats down next to him and fixes a small collar over his head.

Yuuri makes an affronted noise and tries to pull away, but Viktor smiles at him and clips a leash onto the collar and says something that includes the word “walk.”

Oh god. _Oh god_.

Makkachin is already dancing around the door, and Yuuri sullenly notices that _she’s_ not leashed. It becomes evident why, though, once they step out onto the St. Petersburg street and Makkachin stays at Viktor’s heel like the perfectly trained dog that she is.

Yuuri doesn’t particularly feel like trying to run away, so he sticks to Viktor’s other side and is easily able to keep up with the pace that he sets. After a couple blocks of light jogging on Yuuri’s part - who would have thought that having four short legs instead of two moderately long ones would mean he’d have to run to keep up with Viktor’s brisk walk? - they eventually come to a stop as Makkachin wanders over to a patch of snow and… well, relieves herself.

Yuuri suddenly becomes very aware of the crinkling of a plastic bag in Viktor’s pocket just as his own need to use the bathroom becomes very painfully evident. But he _can’t_. Not in front of Viktor.

They walk around for another thirty minutes or so before Viktor evidently decides that Yuuri doesn't need to pee (how is this his life?!) and takes them back to his apartment. He sets down another bowl of water for Yuuri when Makkachin hogs hers, and Yuuri gets very quickly acclimated to the strangeness of lapping up water with his freakishly long tongue.

Now, however, Viktor is determined to get Yuuri to play with him somehow, evidenced by the way he keeps waving the rope toy in front of Yuuri’s nose when Yuuri lays back down on the kitchen floor. Yuuri turns his face away every time the rope taps him on the nose, and eventually Makkachin snatches the rope away and curls up on the couch to mantle her kill. Viktor looks down at Yuuri, hands planted on his hips, before he bends down and scoops Yuuri up before Yuuri can scramble away. He starts to squirm in Viktor’s grasp, but then Viktor starts to scratch at that spot behind his ear that makes him relax and settle into Viktor’s arms. Viktor sighs and cuddles Yuuri closer, and Yuuri can’t seem to stop going limp.

Viktor says something that includes the word “cute” again, and Yuuri is distantly torn between preening and being utterly embarrassed. He opts to let Viktor carry him over to the couch and settle on the Russian skater’s chest when he sits down with a book and settles in for an easy afternoon.

Yuuri wants to squirm and retreat, but Viktor keeps petting him and humming, his deep voice reverberating through his chest. A shuffling noise on the other end of the couch indicates Makkachin repositioning herself to curl up under Viktor’s legs, rope still dangling from her mouth.

A glance at the book in Viktor’s hand reveals it to be in French, which Yuuri does not know at all. He marvels at Viktor’s capacity to become fluent in two entirely different languages apart from his mother tongue, but can’t really concentrate long enough to work himself back into hero-worship anxiety as long as Viktor keeps petting him.

They stay like this for over an hour, the calm silence of the apartment broken only by the turning of the pages and the occasional sigh from Makkachin. At one point, the larger poodle falls asleep and drops the rope toy, which thumps on the wooden floor and startles her awake again. She yawns and resettles back into a sprawl on the cushions, clearly content enough to go back to sleep once more. A bit later, Viktor follows suit, the book resting forgotten on Yuuri’s flank as the legendary skater dozes off, his hand going still on Yuuri’s back.

And now Yuuri is the only one still awake and with no stimuli to draw his attention, he starts to panic. He doesn’t know when he last used the bathroom, and it’s getting hard to ignore. It doesn’t help when he realizes that his bladder is now definitely smaller than he’s used to. Because of course it is. He’s been turned into a _miniature_ poodle.

Slowly, he tries to wiggle out from under Viktor’s hand and scoot off of his chest without waking the man, but it’s slow going and the worst capper Yuuri can think of to this awful, _awful_ day would be to pee on Viktor Nikiforov.

Yuuri feels Viktor shift under him and goes still. Viktor’s face crunches up and then smooths out again. He’s so handsome. It’s so unfair. Yuuri fights down a whine and waits a few minutes until he’s sure that Viktor won’t wake up, and then continues to try and worm his way out of Viktor’s grasp.

All his efforts are for nothing, because he wakes up Makkachin, who then wakes up Viktor by stretching and shifting under his legs. Yuuri is suddenly staring into Viktor’s bleary eyes, and his brow crinkles adorably as he levers himself up, cradling Yuuri against his chest. He asks something that Yuuri doesn’t entirely understand, but Yuuri catches the word “bathroom”.

Crap.

Viktor ruffles the fur on Yuuri’s head and sets him down on the floor next to the couch before swinging his long legs off of it and standing. As he makes his way across the room to grab the leash, Yuuri panics and throws himself into the narrow space between the floor and the sofa.

Makkachin makes an inquisitive noise as she follows him with her nose - her head can barely fit under the sofa. Viktor clearly hears the scrabbling of Yuuri’s nails on the hardwood as he scrambles far enough to not be easily dragged out.

Viktor drops the leash and the collar on the couch and kneels down, eventually peeking underneath and giving Yuuri the most adorably confused look that Yuuri had ever seen. He squeaks as his bladder gives another pang, but manages to hold back any leaks. He’s prepared to dig in his metaphorical heels, but he has clearly forgotten that Viktor’s couch is in the middle of an open-plan layout. So when Viktor’s face disappears and he thinks he’s safe for the moment, it’s an utter shock when a strong hand grabs him and drags him out from behind.

Viktor yelps in surprise and Yuuri registers sudden relief coupled with utter mortification when his bladder finally fails him. Viktor mutters a curse in Russian and holds Yuuri away from him, but it’s all over his pants.

Yeah, this is it. Yuuri is going back on the streets. Possibly the pound. It’s all over.

Viktor sighs and pats Yuuri on the head, gingerly carrying him across the apartment and into the bathroom. Yuuri starts to freak out again when Viktor deposits him in the huge bathtub, with walls too high for him to climb and escape. Viktor strips off his soiled clothes, and while Yuuri can’t see all of him he can see enough of Viktor’s gorgeous, muscled back and perfect shoulders. Yuuri wonders if this is some kind of compensation for his life being utterly ruined and possibly coming to an end, because if Viktor doesn’t give him to a pound then he might just die of embarrassment.

Viktor disappears from the bathroom, leaving Yuuri alone to simmer in his misery. He curls up in one end of the tub. His fur is wet underneath, and he smells bad. This is officially the worst day in his life. Even worse than the GPF free skate. Worse than anything else ever. He closes his eyes and can’t help himself shaking, his entire body tight with tension and stress.

Viktor comes back into the bathroom a few minutes later, and aw’s, which makes Yuuri pop his head up in confusion. When he sees him, Viktor is kneeling by the bathtub with a soft expression, head tilted. He reaches into the bathtub. Yuuri cringes, but Viktor scratches him behind his ears again and Yuuri can’t help but whine pathetically and turn his face into Viktor’s hand.

Viktor gives him one last pat before he reaches over to the faucet and flips it on, turning it to warm water. Yuuri blinks, glancing from the faucet to Viktor and back again.

Viktor has changed into sleeping clothes, and is now pulling a bottle of doggy shampoo from the cabinet.

Oh god.

Yuuri doesn’t even try to struggle. He resigns himself to his fate as Viktor uses a plastic cup to wet his fur and then pours a handful of oatmeal-scented shampoo into his palm. Viktor quickly and efficiently lathers Yuuri up, talking soothingly to him the whole time, and massages the suds into the curly fleece. It feels like the best kind of massage, which helps Yuuri relax into Viktor’s ministrations.

Viktor’s expression and the amount of care that Viktor uses while gently washing Yuuri’s fur gives him warm fluttery feelings in his belly. If he closes his eyes, Yuuri can pretend that he’s human and Viktor is in the bath with him, washing his hair and whispering sweet nothings in his ear.

He’s so worn down by the ceaseless humiliations of the day that he’s at the point where he’ll take whatever he can get. So he doesn’t react when Viktor cleans his underside, when ordinarily the thought of Viktor Nikiforov touching him in his most private places would be enough to both kickstart his libido and make him hyperventilate enough to become lightheaded.

Makkachin has joined them by now, poking her head over the lip of the tub and watching with an almost quizzical expression. When Viktor starts rinsing Yuuri off with cupfuls of warm water, she suddenly decides to jump in, leading to suds getting everywhere. Yuuri yips and presses himself against the side of the tub as Makkachin paws at the water gathered in the bottom, splashing him and Viktor. She eventually sits down, displacing more sudsy water, and looks at Viktor expectantly.

Viktor is laughing, more freely and harder than Yuuri has ever seen from him. He has to lean his forehead against the lip of the tub as he laughs, and Makkachin licks at his face where she can reach, her tail wagging excitedly.

Viktor says something fondly, ruffling Makkachin’s fleece and kissing her head. He picks her up by the front legs and carefully helped her climb back out of the tub, letting her shake off before toweling her down and letting her back out into the apartment. Yuuri tries to follow her, but - again, _miniature poodle_ \- he can’t manage to reach the lip of the tub. Viktor returns his attention to Yuuri, gently pushing him back into the tub so he can finish rinsing him off. Once the water runs clean down the drain, Viktor scoops Yuuri up out of the tub and sets him down on the tile floor. After a few awkward moments of expectant waiting, Yuuri realizes Viktor is waiting for him to shake off as well.

Yuuri is surprised at how much water flies off of him, and is even more surprised at how he makes Viktor laugh just by doing something so simple. Viktor praises him again, using the same words that Yuuri is starting to recognize, and wraps him up in another dry towel. Yuuri ends up cradled against Viktor’s chest again, and this time he snuggles right up to the man, trying to retain as much heat as possible now that he’s out of the bath. Viktor coos, rubbing his chin on Yuuri’s head and burying his nose in the clean, damp fur.

Yuuri wonders if Viktor would be this affectionate if he knew who Yuuri really was, but is starting to have trouble making himself care. It would be _so easy_ to just…

And it hits him like a splash of icy water. Yuuri has been feeling it on and off all day, whenever he’s starting to relax and feel comfortable, _especially_ when Viktor is lavishing him with attention and physical contact. But whenever he starts feeling more safe and happy, he can feel himself fading.

Not physically. Physically, he’s starting to feel better. But… but he can feel _Yuuri_ slipping away the longer he stays with Viktor. He can feel his consciousness starting to fuzz out at the edges.

If this keeps up, the only creature left in this small furry body will be Yukkachin, and Yuuri will be gone.

 

Yuuri doesn’t sleep much that night. He refuses to join Viktor and Makkachin on the massive bed, instead curling up in the corner of the bedroom and panicking for so long that the hours blended together. Panic keeps the encroaching loss of self at bay, even if he nearly makes himself sick a few times.

By the time dawn rolls around and Viktor rouses from a peaceful slumber, Yuuri is starting to come apart at the edges. Plus, he needs to pee again.

He doesn’t fight it when, after Viktor bundles up in enough layers to brave the wintery St. Petersburg morning, the collar is slipped around his head again and he’s led out of the apartment, down the hallway, and out onto the street. He also doesn’t fight it when, after a few blocks, Makkachin decides to do her business and Viktor looks expectantly at him. He follows suit with little fuss, and the encouraging smile from Viktor makes him numb with happiness. He claws at his sense of self, but it’s becoming harder and harder to break out of the fugue that settles over him whenever Viktor praises him and pats him on the head.

Maybe it would be easier to just give in. Viktor seems to like him and is willing to be patient with him, there are worse ways to live out his life. Now that he thinks of it, his lifespan is probably cut short. And _that_ tears him out of the happy dog-brain fog and slams him right back onto the freezing Russian streets.

The average poodle lifespan is between twelve and fifteen years. If he does dog-years math with his own age, poodle-Yuuri is just a little over two years old. But still.

He’s going to die _so much sooner_ like this, he realizes. He’s going to grow older faster, and everyone he’s ever known will outlive him.

“Yukkachin?” Viktor says, looking at him with a concerned expression and tugging the leash.

Yuuri sits down abruptly, not even registering the coldness of the pavement. He wants to cry.

_This isn’t fair!_

But if he lets it go, if he lets the Yuuri part of himself go, he won’t care anymore. He can just be happy and adored by his childhood hero, a cherished pet until his final days. If Makkachin is any indication, Viktor is a good dog owner. It wouldn’t be bad.

But anguish still burns in his chest. _I don’t want this!_

He hears a high-pitched whining noise and dimly realizes it’s coming from him, but he’s too distressed to stop. Viktor immediately scoops him up, and he goes without a fuss as Viktor bundles him closer to his chest, warming the frozen pads on his feet.

 _This isn’t fair_ , Yuuri thinks as Viktor calls to Makkachin to head home. _None of this is fair at all_.

 

It comes to him as Viktor is scooping dry food into Makkachin’s bowl: all he has to do is spill the pellets on the floor and spell out what he wants to say. He just needs to get Viktor’s attention long enough to signal that he's not an ordinary dog. It's so simple, he wants to kick himself for not thinking of it sooner.

Viktor sets the second bowl down in front of Yuuri and pats him on the head before turning on his heel and striding across the living space to the bedroom.

Wait. Yuuri blinks in confusion as Viktor shuts the door behind him. Is he going out? He just won the Grand Prix Final. But it only makes sense that Viktor, four-time World Champion and and living legend, would be this dedicated to his training. If Yuuri wasn’t so concerned with communication, _again_ , he would be inspired. But, he’s a _dog_ and he’s got a mission.

Makkachin is noisily gulping down her bowlful of dry food across the kitchen, and Yuuri can hear movement behind the closed bedroom door. He makes a snap decision to put his plan into motion and knocks the bowl over. It’s a regular soup bowl so it doesn't take much. Pellets scatter across the hardwood, and Yuuri noses at them in order to shape them into Western letters. _I AM YUU--_

He heads a snuffling to his left and looks up to see Makkachin licking up the spilled food, having finished hers. He growls at her, but she ignores him and continues eating, scattering his letters and demolishing his hard work. He barks at her, the first time he’s ever made a noise louder than a yip or a whine, and she keeps ignoring him.

“Ah, Makkachin!” Viktor exclaims, pulling her away by the collar. “ _Nyet_ , Makkachin!” He scolds her in rapid Russian, but she's unrepentant, licking her muzzle after managing to eat up most of the food Yuuri had spilled.

Yuuri is still trying to kick his whirring brain out of the loop of _oh god oh god oh god_ as Viktor pulls Makkachin into the bedroom and shuts her in, still muttering under his breath. He pats Yuuri on the head, murmuring an apology, and refills the bowl before heading into the bathroom. Yuuri debates chasing after him, but decides against it in favor of reconstructing his message.

At the sound of the bowl being knocked over again, Viktor comes back into the kitchen wearing his old Olympics jacket and black exercise pants. He frowns at the overturned bowl and tuts before picking Yuuri up and using his hand to push all the pellets together into a little pile. He talks to Yuuri, clearly asking why he’s making such a mess, but Yuuri doesn’t pay much attention as his second attempt to spell out his name is swept away. Viktor sets Yuuri down as he employs his other hand to scoop the pellets into the bowl again, carefully picking up every stray bit of food, before pushing the bowl in front of Yuuri again.

Even as his his anxiety flares up again, Yuuri contemplates the bowl of dry food again and decides that third time’s a charm. He makes to tip the bowl again, and Viktor cries out and stops him as soon as he realizes what Yuuri’s up to. Yuuri catches himself barking in indignation at being pushed back from the bowl and Viktor tuts at him again, tapping Yuuri’s nose. Yuuri shrinks away - _oh no I’ve actually pissed him off_ \- as Viktor picks up the bowl and stands without looking at him. Yuuri feels the flutterings of a panic attack morph into a full-blown one as Viktor disappears behind the kitchen counter with the bowl in his hand. He’s starting to feel very small and helpless again, and he can’t seem to keep his head up. He can even feel his tail tucking itself between his legs; he would be dwelling on how weird it feels if it weren’t for the fact that he can’t help but focus on how he keeps messing up in front of Viktor. He’s not a real dog, but somehow being bad at being a dog - especially being bad at being Viktor Nikiforov’s dog - cuts deeper than any knife.

Yuuri hears a clink and then Viktor is crouching down in front of him, gathering Yuuri’s face in his hands and talking to him gently. Yuuri tries to pull out of Viktor’s grasp, but then Viktor starts rubbing down his muzzle, right underneath his eyes, and it’s like pressure point therapy. He can feel the tension in his body easing as Viktor coos and keeps stroking down his face. Eventually, Viktor moves aside to reveal that he’s switched out the soup bowl with a massive square-bottomed mug to prevent spills. Yuuri is torn between being touched that Viktor is willing to meet him in the middle on Yuuri’s perceived Inability To Dog and frustrated that he’ll have a harder time tipping over his new food bowl.

He’s wondering how he can possibly restructure his plan to account for this new hurdle when his stomach grumbles loudly. Sighing, he gives into his hunger while Viktor beams and pets him more.

Once Yuuri has finished off his breakfast, Viktor lets Makkachin out of the bedroom and bids them goodbye, grabbing his skate bag off of the counter and locking the door behind him. Makkachin settles on the couch with a chew toy, and Yuuri is suddenly faced with an entire day of being a dog with no opposable thumbs trapped in an as-good-as stranger’s apartment with nobody but another dog for company.

Yuuri decides to explore the apartment just to get the lay of the land. He’s not being creepy. Absolutely not.

Except that nosing around Viktor’s home is… depressingly quick. Takes less than half an hour. There’s really not much to the place. An open-plan main living space/kitchen space/dining space, a European-style bathroom, a few closets, and the bedroom. The place smells like Viktor and Makkachin, but it’s also very devoid of the lived-in quality of his dorm in Detroit, or his family home in Hasetsu. Makkachin has more personal effects scattered around the living space than Viktor does.

Otherwise, it’s… empty. No pictures on the walls, no personality to the furniture. Sure, the shelf is filled with books, but upon closer inspection some of the spines haven’t even been cracked yet. There’s an almost impersonal feel to the perfectly-matched furniture and decorations, from the curtains to the weird chair/coat-rack piece. Even the bedroom is lacking, with its beige walls and navy comforter. Viktor had made his bed before he’d left, and the room looked like an ad for Ikea. The only indication that someone lived here was the scent that Yuuri’s dog nose could pick up in the fabric.

Maybe Viktor wasn’t home often enough to really live in his own apartment? It's still an uncomfortable thought.

Yuuri begins to feel very, very underwhelmed and bored. Being a former dog owner himself, he knows that a bored dog is a destructive dog. He also knows that if he tried to tear apart any of Makkachin’s toys, the older dog might resent him. So, clearly, he’s got to find a new way to keep himself occupied.

Finding another medium to send a message to Viktor might be the ticket. He begins to re-investigate the apartment with a mind to find something else to use to write with. He’s careful to not make a mess, and he’s thorough enough that he’s surprised to hear the apartment door slam and glance up at the clock only to find that noon has rolled around.

Viktor’s cheeks are flushed and he seems worn out, but he still smiles and greets Makkachin before looking for Yuuri, seeming surprised to find him in the kitchen. He still crouches down to scratch behind Yuuri’s ears, and Yuuri has given up on controlling the manic wagging of his tail at this point. However, he hasn’t counted on Viktor somehow managing to scratch a literal itch on his neck that he hasn’t previously been able to reach; he wants to hide his face when his back leg begins to jump and shake, while Viktor just laughs and continues to oblige him.

Viktor clearly isn’t going to be staying long - he doesn’t even take off his coat or shoes, he just puts the collar on Yuuri and whistles for Makkachin before letting them out into the hallway.

Makkachin is excited to be outside again, and Yuuri can’t deny that he definitely needed a bathroom break, too. But now he’s faced with the next hurdle of How To Dog - the other side of relieving himself. At least with pee, there’s nothing for Viktor to clean up.

Maybe he should just… not, he muses as Viktor picks up after Makkachin, lobbing the used bag into a wastebin. If it gets unbearable, he could always just have an accident in the bathroom. God knows he’s been a pain in the ass thus far.

But Viktor doesn’t deserve to come home from a long day of training just to have to clean up another one of Yuuri’s messes; the spot behind the couch still smells like the cleaner he used to sterilize the floor after Yuuri’s accident from the day before, an unpleasant reminder that he really shouldn’t be giving Viktor this much trouble in exchange for taking him in.

So he sucks it up and does what Viktor clearly is waiting for him to do, and he’s pathetically pleased when Viktor expresses delight at how well-behaved he’s being. Being a good dog just makes that happy haze that keeps fogging up his brain become thicker, so Yuuri is a bit surprised to find himself back in Viktor’s apartment again before he “wakes up” so to speak. As soon as Viktor hangs up the leash and bids them farewell for the afternoon, Yuuri again realizes that he missed an opportunity to use the snow outside to spell out his identity to Viktor. And now he’s locked inside with no way out.

_Dammit._

He can feel every part of him drooping in disappointment. It’s been over twenty-four hours since he got turned into a dog, well over twenty-four hours since Celestino last saw him, and approaching forty-eight hours since he last spoke to his mother. He’s starting to think he’ll never be able to communicate with anyone ever again.

Makkachin is lively after the midday walk, and keeps trying to play with Yuuri. She even tries to wrestle a little with him, pinning him down for a few minutes before Yuuri is able to wiggle free. He eventually retreats under Viktor’s bed, which is again too tight for Makkachin to fit under. Makkachin paws at the space that she can reach, whining softly, but Yuuri is starting to get depressed and anxious once more and refuses to come out. After a while Makkachin gives up on trying to engage him, eventually jumping up onto the bed with a squeaky toy and contentedly chewing on it. The afternoon silence is punctuated by high-pitched squawks from the toy as Yuuri curls himself into a tight little ball and tries to rein in his growing panic once more.

Celestino _has_ to have noticed his absence by now. He wonders if his coach is looking for him in Sochi, at the hotel where they had stayed and where the banquet had been held. He wishes he could get ahold of a phone, or something… but then again, with two paws, what could he do if he had his phone?

What had he done to deserve this? He hadn’t bothered to dwell on the angry girl’s words after his initial realization that she had caused all of this, but he has to try and figure out what he’d done to make the girl in Sochi angry so he could undo the transformation.

But try as he might, he can’t bring the night of the banquet into focus. He’d started drinking and everything had gone fuzzy. He must have insulted Viktor, or maybe talked to the girl and insulted her by talking about Viktor. He didn’t think that he _would_ insult anyone while drunk but it’s a possibility that what he might consider to be harmless tipsy banter might be taken as rude by someone else, especially in a culture he had little to no experience in.

He tried to recall the girl’s words from yesterday, what little she’d said to him in English, but to his horror he realizes that he can’t even remember her face. It’s been just a day since that girl had stared him down, and he was _certain_ he could previously recall what she’d looked like before but now it’s starting to get fuzzy.

Yuuri is usually very good with faces. He doesn’t have trouble remembering what people look like, which helps when he’s trying to get to know his competitors. But now he can’t even remember what color eyes that girl had had as she’d stared him down in the hotel hallway. Her words are even more difficult to recall, even though he _knows_ he had been mulling them over the day before.

What scares him more is the fact that if he can’t remember the events of yesterday morning, he has no hope of figuring out what he did at the banquet that led to this curse. Maybe it’ll come undone on its own, but Yuuri is increasingly losing hope in that. If anything, he thinks the curse is getting stronger as more time passes, what with his lapses in awareness and the way he would cease to care about all that had gone wrong in his life whenever he got attention from Viktor.

He doesn’t even work up the energy to panic at this point, he’s just overwhelmingly sad. Even if he fights to stay Yuuri inside his own head, it’s looking less and less likely that he’ll even be able to. The desire to behave for Viktor, to be good while in his care, is both tied to his continued ability to stay sheltered and fed; if every time he behaves well for Viktor results in him becoming more and more doglike, he might be better off on the stre--

 _No_ , that is unacceptable. He’s lucky enough that his own beloved hero, his longtime idol, was the one to stumble over him yesterday in the hotel. He’s lucky he wasn’t picked up by the local pound, which he isn’t even sure has a no-kill policy. He could be living on the streets, cold, wet, and hungry; he could be stuck in a cage with a death sentence hanging over his head. But he’s not, he’s warm and dry and fed, and Viktor Nikiforov likes him enough to keep him like that. Besides, how does he even know that he wouldn’t lose his human consciousness if he were miserable and on the streets? He doesn’t want to think about what that could end up being like.

He’s got no winning options where he comes out with his human personality intact at this rate. Yuuri will cling to whatever shreds of consciousness that he can in the coming days, and he will try to talk to Viktor, but…

But maybe it’s time to accept his fate.

Yuuri can feel his entire body draining of tension, not in relief, but in resignation. He’s so overcome with sadness that he doesn’t register Makkachin jumping down from the bed and leaving the bedroom, leaving him alone. He closes his eyes as the lack of sleep and the stress of the past day one more catches up with him and falls into an uneasy slumber.

Before he slips fully into the numbness of sleep, the witch’s voice whispers in the darkest recesses of his memory: _Know your place_.

 

Yuuri is awakened hours later by the sound of the front door closing and Makkachin excitedly greeting Viktor as he lets himself back in. Yuuri feels sluggish and slow, and doesn’t register anything until Viktor calls out the nonsensical name he’d given Yuuri. Even so, it isn’t until Makkachin leads Viktor into the bedroom and crouches by the bed, and Viktor crouches down and peers under at him, that Yuuri realizes something is terribly wrong.

He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Viktor look unhappy before, and yet that is undeniably the expression on Viktor’s face. It’s so _wrong_ and frankly unbearable that Yuuri uncurls and edges his way out from under the bed, immediately concerned.

Viktor sobs, actually sobs, and gathers Yuuri into his arms as soon as he’s wiggled free of his hiding spot, and Yuuri lets the champion figure skater bury his face in his fur and make a noise like a wounded animal. He wonders _, what happened at practice today?_

Viktor doesn’t put him back down, but instead climbs to his feet, clutching Yuuri to his chest, before shuffling back out into the main room and curling up on the couch. Makkachin immediately presses up against her master’s side, whining softly, and Viktor leans into her, still crying into Yuuri’s fleece.

Any thoughts of trying to communicate with Viktor immediately fly out of his head, and he finds himself trying to comfort his former competitor, rubbing his face against Viktor’s and wracking his brain for something - _anything_ \- to do.

 _Vicchan_. He remembers how after hard days, he would do exactly this with his childhood dog: just laying on his bed with his nose in the curly brown fur, and the little poodle would nose at his forehead and refuse to leave his side until he was feeling better again. Somehow, Vicchan would always know when things weren’t right and would just stay with Yuuri until they were again.

Yuuri’s heart breaks for his beloved idol as he dissolves into a tired, miserable mess, and rests his head on Viktor’s collarbone as Viktor begins to mumble softly in a way that Yuuri can’t even hope to understand. He stays still, remaining long after Viktor cries himself out and falls asleep curled up on the couch, and wishes he could do more.

 

Eventually Viktor wakes up and remembers to take Yuuri and Makkachin out for a walk - he’d evidently left skating practice early, because it’s still the afternoon - and his earlier sadness is still very evident, so Yuuri doesn’t try to bother him with attempts to spell out his name in the snow or spill his food again. Makkachin has cottoned onto the situation too, and Yuuri realizes that the other poodle must have seen other instances like this. The idea of Viktor being unhappy like this more than once is like an ice pick in his heart, and after eating he finds himself curled up in Viktor’s lap as the man listlessly turns on the TV and sits in silence on the couch. His phone buzzes a few times, but Viktor ignores it, instead occupying his hands with petting both Yuuri and Makkachin.

The show is a scripted drama, and Yuuri can’t make head nor tails of it, but Viktor isn’t really paying attention to the TV. He dozes for a bit, his hand stilling on Yuuri’s back, and Yuuri is fighting to stay awake when there’s a loud pounding on the apartment door.

Viktor wakes up with a start and is clearly contemplating not answering the door when an annoyed young man’s voice pierces the stillness of the late afternoon.

Viktor sighs and puts Yuuri on the cushion next to him before heaving himself up off the couch. It seems that even shuffling over to the door is a great effort, and Makkachin immediately jumps down from her perch and joins her master, pressing up against his leg in an attempt to support him.

Yuuri is surprised to see the Russian skating team waiting outside Viktor’s door. Clearly, he’d left practice in distress, because despite Yuri Plisetsky’s blustering loudness, Yuuri can read obvious concern from everyone there. Even Viktor’s coach is stepping into the apartment, taking off his hat and eyeing Viktor with an unsubtle expression of worry.

Mila Babicheva actually hugs Viktor, and Yuuri is frightened to see the tall man wilt in the teenage girl’s embrace. He’s jumping down from the sofa and running across the apartment before he even realizes it, and paws at Viktor’s leg. Some part of his worried brain - and he’s not sure _which part,_ dog or human - is screaming at him to let Viktor pick him up again, because holding him will make Viktor feel better.

Somewhat to Yuuri’s shock, it’s Yuri Plisetsky that picks him up and offers him to Viktor. Viktor accepts Yuuri gratefully, and Yuri looks unnerved to see his rinkmate so emotionally worn down. Yuuri can relate, but he instead settles against Viktor’s chest as the group’s coach speaks in a gruff, fatherly voice.

Viktor answers tiredly, and that seems to settle it for the Russian team. They push past Viktor into the apartment, taking off their shoes and coats and stowing them by the door. Mila pushes Viktor back down onto the couch and pats the cushions for Makkachin to jump up as Georgi Popovich and Yuri take over the kitchen, pulling pots and pans out of the cupboards and emptying out paper grocery bags that they’d hauled in with them.

Viktor’s coach asks something, and Viktor shrugs and closes his eyes as Mila sits down on his other side and puts her head on his shoulder. They talk in low, quiet voices, and Viktor barely answers, instead burying his face in Yuuri’s fur again and almost mechanically stroking Makkachin’s ears.

Yuuri isn’t an idiot. He can see what’s right in front of his face. He can tell the difference between the smiles that Viktor’s given Yuuri-the-dog compared to the one he’d given Yuuri-the-skater. He can understand that something rattled the Russian skating team enough to personally stop by Viktor’s apartment after he left practice early.

Viktor is going through a rough patch, that much is evident. And someone who skates as beautifully as him, someone who changes the world of figure skating as often as Viktor does… someone as kind to a ragged little stray as Viktor deserves to not feel as bad as this.

Yuuri can feel the fog in his mind rushing in, but he doesn’t fight it this time. He’s made peace with his new place in the world.

Yuuri’s just a regular, run-of-the-mill skater; he’ll be replaced and forgotten in a few weeks. Viktor isn’t, and Katsuki Yuuri can disappear if it means Viktor Nikiforov will be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [to be continued]
> 
> Couple things: one, Viktor is doing a LOT of things wrong with handling an obviously anxious dog. Rule of thumb is to leave the dog be if it isn't hurting itself or others around it; you gotta give it space and let it get acclimated to its surroundings. Even if that dog is secretly your One True Love who has been cursed to be smol and fluffy.
> 
> Two, as Gab helpfully pointed out over and over again, you don't just take a dog you randomly found in a hotel home with you. Hopefully, the next chapter with Viktor's account of the situation will clarify why he took drastic actions. It doesn't justify them, just explains.
> 
> Three, the discussion in the groupchat about the various happenings in this, plus Gab and Ingrid's comments on the Google doc, seriously left me in stitches. Honestly, that's what kept me going in this insanity.
> 
> I can't even give you guys an ETA on the second chapter to this or the next installment of the Batman AU, but I can promise I'm working on them both. Among other things. Also, anxiety. Screw my anxiety. I would fistbump Yuuri but he doesn't have hands right now. AHAHAHA.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me when I first started writing this: oh this'll be a quick one-shot!
> 
> me two months later: whyyyyyyyyy
> 
> Here it is, the long-awaited second chapter. I'M SORRY I LIED, IT'S GONNA BE 3 CHAPTERS LONG AND I PROMISE THE THIRD ONE WILL NOT TAKE AS LONG?
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has commented and recced this sad, absurd little fic of mine ;A; you all mean the world to me. Extra-huge thanks to Ing, Gab, and Sachi for helping me beat these words into submission. I love y'all.
> 
> It bears noting that I have taken a haaaaaaaaard left from canon. Off we go!

Viktor is still riding the high of last night’s banquet when an adorable little poodle puppy stumbles across his path, looking frightened and shell-shocked. Barely containing a squeal of delight, he stoops down and offers it his hand to sniff. The dog stares at him in surprise but not fear, and after a moment he pats it on the head, nearly melting into a cooing puddle when the dog pushes into his hand, tail wagging happily.

“What a sweetheart!” he exclaims, picking the dog up. The little poodle lets him, settling into his arms like it belongs there, and Viktor feels the way he’d felt last night when that charmingly sexy Japanese skater had thrown his arms around Viktor and begged him to coach him.

(Yuuri Katsuki, the skater who moved like music given flesh. Viktor had memorized the name of his future husband with all of the devotion that his primary school studies had never gotten from him.)

The poodle reminds Viktor a little of Yuuri, especially its dark, sparkling eyes. He’s falling in love all over again. This must be fate.

“Ah, you’re so cute!” He tells the dog, grinning at its enthusiastic tail wagging. “What a sweet dog! Oh, I’ve been thinking of getting a puppy for a while now, I should take you home with me!”

Behind him, Yura groans and gives Viktor an exasperated look. “You can’t just take home every dog you trip over, idiot! It might belong to somebody.”

Viktor pouts, but he can’t deny the validity of Yura’s point. He deigns not to answer, instead scratching behind the dog’s ears, making the dog relax into his chest even more.

“Yura’s right,” Yakov says, giving Viktor a glare that he knows is well-meaning and pointing at the front desk. “Go get it reunited with his owner.”

“Yakov, don’t separate us!” Viktor whines, not caring that they’re in public. “We only just met!”

Yakov narrows his eyes at him and Viktor finally relents, carrying the poodle out into the lobby and up to the receptionist.

“Good morning, Mister Nikiforov!” The receptionist says, smiling in greeting. Her eyes widen when she sees the dog in his arms. “What a sweetie you have there!”

“Yes, indeed!” Viktor agrees, giving the dog another pet on its fluffy head. “I stumbled across this dog by the elevators and was wondering if his owners were looking for him.”

The receptionist winces. “Oh, I’m sorry, this hotel doesn’t allow pets of any kind. In fact, one of our staff members reported that a stray dog had gotten in off the street and was disturbing the guests earlier. We actually have a dog catcher on the way over from the pound to pick him up.”

Viktor’s entire body goes cold. “The pound?”

The receptionist nods. “I’m sorry. But maybe if he had a good home to go to…?” She raises her eyebrows at Viktor and that settles it.

Viktor squeezes the dog to his chest a little tighter and gives the receptionist a forced smile. “Well, in that case, I guess he’s coming home with me. But if anyone comes by looking for this cutie, let them know where they can find him, yes?”

The woman’s eyes sparkle and she agrees, patting the poodle on the head before Viktor turns on his heel to make his way back to his team.

Yakov seems unsurprised to see Viktor still clinging to the poodle but he sighs. “Did you at least try?”

“They had a dog catcher from the pound coming to pick him up,” Viktor says airily, and even Yura shudders at that.

Yakov rubs the bridge of his nose like he’s getting a headache. “Very well then. If he does have owners out there somewhere, you’re easy enough to find.”

“Of course,” Viktor agrees. If someone comes forward looking for this dog, he’ll happily give it up. But the poodle has no tags, and Viktor is willing to bet there’s no identity chip in its scruff, so that means it’s most likely free to come home with him. Makkachin will be so pleased to have a friend to play with!

 

**Chris(╯3╰)**

**Chris:** did u srsly find a stray dog and take it home w/u

 **Viktor:** yes [heart]

[photo]

 **Viktor:** he’s so cute

 **Chris:** r u kidding me omg only u viktor

 **Chris:** he is cute tho. u rly keepin him?

 **Viktor:** probably!! if nobody claims him

 **Viktor:** my dog sitter said having a younger dog around might help makka

 **Viktor:** i should come up with a name for him

 **Chris:** don't name him after yuuri

 **Chris:** you literally just met the guy

 **Viktor:** did u see him skate tho??? almost lyrical the way he moves

 **Viktor:** and he skates like he's been watching me a long time

 **Chris:** uh yeah he's a huge fan

 **Chris:** i mean big time huge fan

 **Chris:** his roommate comments on it a lot

 **Viktor:** I'm his hero! I think it's adorable

 **Chris:** u would :P

 **Chris:** srsly don't name the dog yuuri

 **Chris:** srsly

 **Chris:** viktor

 **Viktor:** gotta go, we're about to board

 **Chris:** viktor srsly s r s l y

 

It costs Viktor an absurd amount of money to procure a dog carrier and convince the airline to let him purchase another seat for the dog, who ends up replacing Viktor’s carry-on luggage. That, however, is no hardship. To be honest, as long as Viktor has his wallet, phone, and charger, he can stand to lose the little knapsack that he carries for plane rides. Having determined the dog's gender while trying to wrangle it into the crate, Viktor puts the carrier into the space left between his second seat and the one in front of it, and debates letting the dog out so he can pet him some more. He eventually decides against it and settles in for the short flight back to St. Petersburg.

He dozes off only to be awakened by sad noises from the carrier and quickly unclips his seatbelt to crouch down next to the carrier. “Hey, hey,” he says softly, and the dog goes quiet inside. “It’s alright, we’re almost home. You’re okay.”

He pops open the cage door right as a flight attendant walks past. She does a double take and snaps, “Sir!”

“I won’t let him out, I promise,” Viktor reassures her. “I just want to pet him a little, calm him down.”

“See that he stays in that carrier,” the flight attendant says sternly. “Only working dogs are allowed to roam the cabin.”

“I understand, thank you,” Viktor agrees, and she leaves as he goes back to soothing the frightened poodle in the crate. “Sorry puppy, I can't let you out,” he says. “Don't be scared, it won't be long now. Oooh, you poor thing,” he adds as he feels the animal shivering against his fingers. “I wish I could take you out of there and snuggle with you, you're such a cuddly little puppy.”

He keeps this up for a while, cooing nonsense as he pets the dog down his back until the shivering subsides and the dog eventually falls asleep. Viktor bites back a long “awww” and gently closes the cage before resettling in his seat. They're a long way from landing, so he pulls out his phone.

A smile comes to his lips as he opens his photo album and flicks through the images he'd saved last night.

Katsuki Yuuri. While he had been waiting to board the flight, Viktor had searched various social media sites for the vivacious, bright-eyed Japanese skater and had been disappointed to find nothing but fan groups on Facebook, neglected accounts on Instagram and Twitter,and very little else. Yuuri's last Tweet was sent in late November… _of last year._ How does this boy get his news?!

Poking around Yuuri’s Instagram led him to Yuuri’s rinkmate, Phichit Chulanont. Phichit, as if to make up for Yuuri’s lack of activity, posted more than even Viktor or Chris. Phichit, who must be some kind of angel, had _tons_ of photos in which he’d tagged Yuuri: photos of Yuuri asleep on a couch with empty energy drink cans stacked on him, on the ice at practice, cooking in a kitchen, and with his face buried in a textbook.

How had Viktor not known this adorable whirlwind of a human being before yesterday?

Viktor had scrolled to the last tagged photo of Yuuri: a selfie with Phichit, captioned " **_@y-katsuki_ ** _headed off to the Grand Prix Final!! best of luck!!!! bring home that gold!!!!"_ He hadn’t been able to resist taking a screenshot.

Viktor can feel his heart leaping into his throat at the soft, sweet smile on Yuuri’s face. The other skater’s cheeks are dusted with the slightest blush, his expression almost shy.

The clawing, simmering desire to truly know this beautiful human being returns, filling him with almost manic energy. It’s a relief when the seatbelt light is turned on and he has to re-latch the cage for the landing, and then he’s _home_ again.

 

When the little poodle bites Viktor as he tries to pull him out of the crate, Viktor is unsurprised. He knows that he shouldn’t try and force a clearly frightened dog out of its safe space, but he also is overcome with concern when he realizes that the toy poodle is shaking. When he glances into the crate, he sees the little dog curled into a tight ball all the way in the back of the crate, whimpering and trembling hard enough to rattle the cage door.

Still, the bite doesn’t break skin - the dog gave him a warning nip to back off. Viktor is torn for a second between leaving the dog alone and trying again, but goes ahead with the second attempt when his concern outweighs his caution. This time, when he reaches in for the poodle, there’s no resistance and he’s able to gently pull his guest out into the open.

The little poodle settles immediately against his chest, still shaking, and Viktor sighs as he looks up at Viktor with almost mournful eyes. “Why are you so sad?” he asks, stroking behind the poodle’s soft ears. “What happened, sweetie? Did someone hurt you before?”

He doesn’t think so, he hopes it’s not true, there’s no indication of it as far as he can tell - and he really should arrange for a visit to the vet when he’s got some free time, just to make sure his new friend is in good health —  the dog’s frequent fits of anxiety are worrying him. He’ll have to bring it up when he takes the little poodle into his vet.

He sits back against the wall next to the crate, still petting the new dog and talking quietly to him. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Makkachin approaching slowly, trying to appear as nonthreatening as possible.

To Viktor’s delight, Makkachin approves of the new dog right away and tries to play with him as soon as she’s done investigating him. The smaller poodle shies away, watching Makka warily as she prances around Viktor, panting excitedly. Viktor, for his part, is smiling fit to burst. He knows Makkachin can be overwhelming at first but even Yura and Yakov warmed up to her eventually.

Makkachin tries to climb into his lap and snuggle with the new dog, but Viktor scoots her butt off and repositions her to give the little poodle space. “Makkachin,” he says, tapping his old girl on the nose. “Where are your manners? We have to make our new friend feel comfortable.” He rubs the new dog’s back. “And we can't keep just calling you 'the new dog',” he adds, looking down at the dark, furry face at his elbow. “I think we’ll call you… Yukkachin!”

The new poodle stares at him with an almost human expression of perplexedness. It's hilarious. The newly-dubbed Yukkachin lets out a sad little noise that breaks Viktor’s heart, burying his face in Viktor’s elbow.

Yep. Vet. This isn’t normal.

He settles in for the long haul and Makkachin lays her head down on his thigh next to Yukkachin. It’s so incredibly peaceful that Viktor can feel the weariness of the previous week draining out of him. Sometimes it still shocks him how tense and unhappy he can become in day-to-day life.

But that’s going to change, he reflects with a small smile. He has Yukkachin now, and when Yuuri arrives back at his home rink in Detroit, maybe Viktor will be able to reach out to him and start a friendly chat.

It’s when Yukkachin’s little tummy gives a grumble that Viktor realizes he’ll need to get a second food bowl. Even so, one of his rarely-used soup bowls will probably work perfectly well. He’ll have to get a food formulated for smaller dogs as well, he notes to himself as he scoops Yukkachin’s dinner into the bowl. Makkachin is already noisily chowing down on her dry food on the other side of the kitchen as Viktor sets down the bowl for Yukkachin and calls him over.

Yukkachin doesn’t move, looking up at Viktor with wide, confused eyes for a few long minutes, enough time for Makkachin to finish her dinner and try to eat his. It breaks his heart even more, even as he’s tugging Makkachin away from it. “Oh, you silly little sweet thing,” Viktor says softly, scooping up the little dog into his arms. Makkachin watches them from her cushion in the living room as he sets Yukkachin down in the kitchen.

It takes a little bit of coaxing, but Yukkachin evidently decides that Viktor hasn’t poisoned his food and practically inhales the bowl, his little tail wagging about a mile a minute. It’s so adorable that Viktor can’t stop the little noise that escapes him.

Still, when Yukkachin refuses to join Viktor and Makkachin on the couch, Viktor sighs and leaves him be. “Don’t worry, girl,” he tells Makkachin as he cuddles her on his lap. “He’ll warm up to us. We’re irresistible.”

 

Yukkachin doesn’t like the collar that much, but, until Viktor is certain that he won’t run out into traffic (he will _never_ forget the time Makka had done that back when he’d first gotten her and nearly gotten hit), Yukkachin will have to deal with being leashed.

Makkachin achieves her objective within a few blocks, but Yukkachin doesn’t seem ready to do his business yet. No matter, Viktor will take the dogs out again before bed.

Or at least, he plans to; a few hours later, after some nice quiet time during which Yukkachin willingly curled up on Viktor’s chest - oh, that was a heart-melting moment right there - Viktor wakes up to a squirmy little poodle and figures out that Yukkachin is now ready for a bathroom break. He lets Yukkachin down so he can grab the leash only to turn around and find that his new dog has scrambled under the sofa. And then, once Viktor has managed to pull Yukkachin out from his hiding spot, they all discover the limits to Yukkachin’s bladder control.

“Well, shit,” Viktor says tiredly as Yukkachin wilts in his grasp, still dripping. His pants and the bottom part of his shirt took the brunt of the poodle’s accident, and really, Viktor should have known this was a possibility. “Sorry about that, puppy. I should have walked you around a little longer.”

Yukkachin can’t seem to bring himself to look Viktor in the face, and he’s still dripping a little, so Viktor decides to leave the puddle for the moment and take the limp poodle into the bathroom. He deposits Yukkachin in the tub and then strips off his soiled clothes, balling them up and tossing them into the hamper. There are still clothes from before the GPF sitting in there, so he decides to run the wash overnight as he changes into clean pyjamas and heads out into his living room to clean up Yukkachin’s accident.

Since most of the mess ended up on his clothes, it’s a simple task of dousing a rag with a disinfectant and wiping down the floor until the spot smells like clean pine. The rag follows his clothes into the hamper and then Viktor goes back into the bathroom, where he spots Yukkachin huddled in the far side of the tub, shaking once more.

“Oh, puppy,” he coos, reaching in to pat the poodle on the head. “I’m not angry. Let’s get you cleaned up, hm?”

He grabs the doggy shampoo from the cabinet and turns on the warm water. Yukkachin looks so confused, but once Viktor wets his fur and gets him lathered up with the soap, he relaxes into his hands, eyes fluttering slightly as Viktor cleans him up.

Eventually Makkachin decides she wants in on the fun and tries to join Yukkachin in the tub. The two poodles staring at him from the tub with similarly tilted heads is such an adorable image that Viktor is laughing hard enough to feel tears leaking from his eyes. “Makka, darling,” he gasps, helping his old girl from the tub and letting her shake off. “You don’t need a bath, do you?”

Makkachin boofs agreeably as he towels her off and sends her back out into the hallway. He turns around to see Yukkachin standing on his hind legs with his front paws perched on the siding of the tub, too small to really do more than peek over the edge of the tub.

Viktor is again overcome with the cuteness of that sight. “You’re almost done, puppy,” he tells Yukkachin, flicking the water back on and picking up the measuring cup that only gets use as Makkachin’s rinse cup.

Once they’re done in the bath and Yukkachin has shaken off most of the excess water, Viktor wraps him up in a towel and can’t help but snuggle the little dog. Yukkachin cuddles into his chest, but something clearly frightens him because he stiffens in Viktor’s arms, no matter how much Viktor pets and talks to him.

 _Make a vet appointment after skating tomorrow_ , Viktor vows to himself when Yukkachin curls up in the corner of the bedroom instead of hopping up on the bed with him. _And get him his own things._ It sounds like a blissful day, shopping for his new dog and skating. If Yuuri responds to the private message that Viktor’s sending off now, it will be even better! (Yuuri already followed his Instagram account! At least he’d done that before neglecting to post anything at all.) Viktor sets his phone aside with the note _vet for Yukkachin_ saved in his reminders and curls up with Makkachin, dropping off into an easy sleep.

 

He doesn’t remember it. Something comes up.

His day goes like this:  after a quick walk, he feeds the dogs. Yukkachin doesn’t like his bowl, evidently, which is both inconvenient and adorable. Viktor is nothing but adaptable, though, so after he changes the bowl and sticks Makka into the bedroom, Yukkachin finally eats.

During their walk Yukkachin had done his business outside, clearly having learned from the day before, but has another anxiety fit halfway through so Viktor is forced to pick him up and carry him home.

He remembers his note, but he’s running late for practice and Yakov won’t forgive him for neglecting his skating for a dog that his coach had only begrudgingly allowed Viktor to take home.

He’s still relieved that Yukkachin ate, but decides to skip his lunch so he can come home and walk the dogs, hopefully preventing any accidents. Yukkachin hasn’t gone poo yet, which is mildly concerning to Viktor for two reasons; hopefully the poodle doesn’t have any parasites or anything that’s messing with his digestion, and hopefully he doesn’t decide to make a mess in the apartment while Viktor is away.

The morning passes quickly; Viktor can feel his skating becoming more energized, more passionate. If this is what falling in love does to him, clearly he’s been missing out on a lot during his long career. Now, he understands why Georgi does what he does with his newest girlfriend when before he’d laughed at the jokes Mila and Yura had cracked at their rinkmate’s expense.

Yakov definitely notices, but he doesn’t comment on it. Viktor isn’t sure if he’s relieved at that or disappointed. Yura, on the other hand, makes it his duty to let Viktor know in excruciating detail how utterly disgusting he finds the entire display. This, Viktor isn’t bothered by. Yura is only fourteen, and he reminds Viktor so much of himself at that age. Hopefully the junior skater will find something other than the sport to fulfill him - they may all love the ice, but the ice will never love them back.

When the others break for lunch, Viktor strips off his skates and leaves his bag stuck under the bench in the locker room so he can run home. He’s both relieved that Yukkachin has managed to hold back from messing up the apartment, and overjoyed when Yukkachin finally does all of his business outside. He doesn’t have much time before Yakov would start getting irritated at him so he takes the dogs back home, gives them both a quick smooch and scratch on the head, and runs back to the rink. Everything’s coming up roses, it’s like the universe is smiling down on him.

It’s an hour into practice when Viktor notices that Yura’s hanging off by the boards, messing with his phone. “Yura,” he calls, coming to a stop next to the teen. “Yakov will yell at you if you--”

“Holy shit,” Yura says, suddenly looking shocked.

Viktor peers over his rinkmate’s shoulder at his phone, and the headline that meets his gaze stops his heart cold.

_Japanese Skater Missing in Sochi_

“Let me see that,” he snaps, snatching Yura’s phone out of the protesting teen’s hand. He scans the article, his heart dropping with every line.

_Katsuki’s coach, Celestino Cialdini, was not available for comment. Cialdini called the authorities after Katsuki failed to return to their shared hotel room in time to depart for the airport and it was discovered that the skater’s phone was still with his luggage. There are no indications of foul play at this time, but anyone with information regarding Katsuki’s whereabouts is encouraged to contact Sochi law enforcement at…_

Viktor can’t breathe. He lets Yura reclaim the phone, barely noticing when Yura shoves at him roughly.

“Vitya?” Mila says, stopping on his other side. “Vitya, are you okay?”

“What happened?” Yakov demands as he and Georgi join them. “What’s wrong?”

“Viktor?”

“Vitya?”

“ _Viktor_ , is something wrong?”

 _Yes,_ Viktor thinks. _Yes, something is wrong_. He can’t speak, his voice has deserted him. The rink is too big, too empty and echoing. It’s all too much.

“Oh no,” Mila says softly as Yura shows her his phone. “Vitya, I’m so sorry.”

That’s all he can handle. “I just realized!” he says, a little too loud, slapping a strained smile on his face. “I left my stove on. I’d better go turn it off!” He’s off the ice and unlacing his skates in record time, despite his shaking hands.

“Vitya--” Yakov starts to say, but Viktor is already throwing on his jacket and hauling his athletic bag out of the arena. He ignores the others’ calls and pushes himself out into the chilly St. Petersburg afternoon.

Normally the cold doesn’t bother him - he’s Russian, it’s cold in the winter, he’s learned to live with it - but now it feels like the chill is seeping into his very being, taking root in his soul and settling in for the long haul. He can feel tears starting to drip down his cheeks, but he’s clenching his fist too hard to wipe them away.

 _Get home_ , he keeps telling himself. _Don’t let anyone see you break._

There are people everywhere with their phones, but they’re all so wrapped up in their own lives that they don’t notice his distress. It’s a small blessing as he fumbles his keys out of his pocket and lets himself into his apartment building.

Makkachin greets him, immediately picking up on his mood. She stops trying to jump up on him and presses against his leg, eyes on his face.

He crumbles, dropping his bag and kicking his door shut. “Hello, my darling,” he whispers, his voice cracking. He glances around for the smaller poodle. “Yukkachin? Where’s our newest friend, Makka?”

Makkachin wuffs softly and pads over to the bedroom, looking over her shoulder at him. Viktor follows, feeling his body becoming heavier and heavier with every step. Is this what dying feels like? No, this is worse than dying, this is being offered life and then having it snatched away from you. This is suffering, more so than any time he ever injured himself before.

This ache in his chest, this must be what heartbreak feels like.

He collapses to his knees and ducks down to look for Yukkachin under his bed. The little poodle catches sight of him and immediately starts scooting out, crawling into his lap as soon as he’s free.

The dam bursts in Viktor’s chest and he gathers the dog into his arms, not even bothering to hold back his tears. “I’m such an idiot,” he says softy. “I’m such an idiot, puppy.”

Yukkachin whines softly, nosing at his cheek. Makkachin pushes her head into his lap, and he curls in around them.

Why is he so broken up by this? As the others were quite happy to point out before, Viktor barely knows Yuuri Katsuki. But…

_But I could have known him. I could have…_

He’s tired, but the floor is cold and hard and he doesn’t feel like hurting himself more than he already is. He relocates to the couch, Makkachin following and immediately rubbing up against him.

“I guess this is a sign,” he says, the tears still falling. “I’m… I’m not supposed to have… maybe I’m not _supposed_ to be happy, huh? I’m so _tired_.”

Makkachin sighs, pushing her head under Viktor’s arm, and he leans his head back against the couch cushion. Yukkachin is silent, curled up against his chest. Viktor is pathetically grateful that he’s allowed this, because if he didn’t have his dogs to come home to he might actually die of despair.

“He was so bright,” he mumbles into Yukkachin’s fur, running numb fingers through it. “So bright and lively and beautiful, and I let myself want him because I’ve never felt as alive as I did with him, and now he’s _gone_.”

Because somehow, Viktor knows Yuuri won’t turn up in Sochi. It’s a horrible dull ache in his chest that feels like a thousand kilogram weight, turning his limbs to lead.

“Okay,” he says, his voice still shaky. “Okay. I… I guess this is it. This is all I get. I can live with this.”

_But I don’t want to._

 

He wakes up some time later, stiff from his unnatural pose on the couch, and realizes that he isn’t worthy of his dogs if he doesn’t care for himself enough to take care of them. He quickly gets up, puts on Yukkachin’s leash, and lets them out of the apartment for a quick walk. Both dogs take care of their business without any prompting, and he feeds them as soon as they get back home. It’s a bit earlier than he usually does, but neither dog seems to mind as they scarf down the dry food and return to his side on the couch. He flips on the television, settling on a stupid daytime drama, but he can’t make himself pay much attention.

Yakov calls his phone many times, and a dozen texts ring out as he sits on the couch with his dogs, fading into a cold numbness unlike anything he’s ever felt before. He’s gone through these sad bouts, sure. He spent the last year and a half feeling off, like there was a glass wall between him and the rest of the world. He’d thought he was breaking out of that.

 _I guess not_ , he thinks sardonically as Yukkachin squirms into his lap. Dimly, he realizes he hasn’t eaten all day as his stomach gives a pang, but he can’t work up the energy to even dig in his threadbare cupboards for a fiber bar or something.

This isn’t good. Yakov made Viktor promise to tell him if he ever felt like this again. But Viktor doesn’t even reach for his phone. He doesn’t want to see all the people expressing concern for him, and he couldn’t explain why. He feels disgusting and weary and sick, and he _shouldn’t feel like this_ , this shouldn’t be affecting him this much.

 _I’m not okay._ He tries it out in his head. _Help. I need help. I’m not okay._

It’s so selfish. Yakov has three other skaters to worry about. He doesn’t need to be dealing with Viktor’s silliness.

Viktor closes his eyes. _I’m not okay. Please help me._

Is it a prayer? A wish? He doesn’t know. He’s too tired to even cry.

If he’s praying, maybe he should be more altruistic. He’s been selfish enough; Yuuri surely has family and friends who are worried for him. _Please let him be okay,_ he wishes as hard as he can. _Even if he never crosses my path again. Even if he’s run away, let him be okay and happy and cared for. Please don’t let him be dead or hurting._

_I can live with that. Please._

He’s startled out of his trance by an insistent knock on his door.

It’s Yakov; his coach has a copy of Viktor’s keys just for an occasion such as this. Still, it’s a surprise when Viktor hears Yura shouting at him, muffled through the door.

It takes every iota of strength in him to put Yukkachin aside and lever himself up from the sofa. He hates this feeling, but he doesn’t know how to fix it. So he shuffles over to the door and opens it, revealing his worried rinkmates and coach.

“Vitya, you look terrible,” Georgi says, not even bothering with niceties.

Viktor smiles sardonically. “Thanks.”

“You look like shit,” Yura agrees, his entire body a frown. Viktor isn’t even sure how the younger skater manages it, but that’s the only way he can describe it.

“Yeah,” Viktor agrees, and Yura’s eyebrows draw together at that. “I feel it too.”

Mila makes a frightened noise and throws her arms around him. “Oh, Vitya.”

And that’s all it takes now, it seems. It’s like his strings have been cut, and he just kind of sags into Mila’s hug. It’s too tiring to pretend. “I’m so tired,” he says aloud, and the others all fall silent.

The last time he said that, he disappeared for a week after winning at Europeans and nearly gave himself alcohol poisoning. Over Mila’s head, he can see Yakov’s face paling.

One of the dogs is pawing at his leg, and Yura stoops down to scoop up Yukkachin. “Don’t talk like that,” he snaps, shoving the little poodle into Viktor’s arms. “You have mutts that need you.”

Viktor’s answering smile is watery, but he’s past caring. These are his rinkmates, his family… if he can’t let them see him like this, then he doesn’t know who he trusts.

“Vitya,” Yakov finally says, twisting his hat in his gloved hands. “Have you eaten?”

“I haven’t,” Viktor answers honestly, and the others exchange worried looks before Mila is leading him back to the couch, telling him to relax and let them do all the work for him.

He wants to protest; they don’t have to babysit him all evening, there’s the Russian nationals and European Championships to prepare for. But they ignore his protests in favor of Yura and Georgi bickering over cooking duties in the kitchen and Mila getting into a well-worn discussion about her theme for the next season with Yakov, who seems grateful to fall back into the familiar argument.

He wants to protest but instead he’s again pathetically grateful that he can have _this_ , even if it’s just for tonight. Makkachin and Yukkachin’s warm bodies are pressed against him as he lets the noise wash over him, and the smell of home-cooked borscht begins to fill the apartment.

He closes his eyes, and tries to push his misery aside for just one night.

 

The next day, he wakes to a voice message from Yakov telling him to stay at home and not to come in. _Vitya, if you feel badly like you did yesterday, you call me. Understand? Please, Vitya._

It makes him feel awful, that Yakov is so worried for him. He calls him back and Yakov immediately answers; Viktor spends ten minutes reassuring his coach that he’ll make sure to eat well today and take the dogs out and get some fresh air.

“Yakov.” Viktor coughs, the words stuck in his throat. “Thank you. For everything.”

“Of course, Vitya,” Yakov says, as if there was no need to be thanking him. “Take care of yourself.”

Viktor hangs up the call and tosses his phone away. Yukkachin makes a sleepy noise against his throat and shifts a little on the bed, right in the space by Viktor’s shoulder. Throughout the night, neither dog was willing to leave Viktor’s side. Yukkachin for one had gotten a lot more physically affectionate, constantly crawling onto Viktor’s lap or butting his head against Viktor’s hand. It’s almost like the little dog was an angel, put into Viktor’s life just for this moment, to keep him from going over the edge.

Chris texts him around nine, asking if he’s okay. Upon opening the chat, Viktor sees several missed messages and pleas for him to answer. Chris had been the one to find him after his bender, after that fateful European win a few years ago. That had been the first time the gold had been hollow.

Chris doesn’t deserve to worry. Viktor sends him reassurance that he’s still alive and finally gives in, checks the news.

Yeah, it’s official. The first headline that he sees is _Japanese skater Yuuri Katsuki declared missing in Sochi_.

Viktor breathes out slowly and finds he can still dredge up tears. They’re thin and they burn the skin around his eyes.

 _i’m so sorry,_ Chris texts. _do you need me to call?_

 _No,_ Viktor responds. _I’m going to sleep._

_call me if you need anything. even if it’s 3AM you call me. Ok?_

_Ok._

He doesn’t go back to sleep right away; he hauls himself out of bed and drags himself to the kitchen as the dogs follow. He puts food down for the poodles and tries to head back to bed, but both of the dogs are unwilling to leave his side even to eat. So, he makes himself some instant oatmeal and robotically feeds himself as the dogs eat. The food sits like lead in his stomach, but the dogs finish and stay at his heel wherever he goes. It makes him cry again; he doesn’t deserve these beautiful creatures at all.

He bundles himself into a coat and shoves on some boots, puts the leash on Yukkachin, and takes the dogs outside so they don’t have to hold their bladders while he mopes around in his bed. They don’t go far from the building, which Viktor is grateful for. The dogs wrap up their business quickly and turn back the way they came without any prompting, and once Viktor’s wiped their paws and stowed his outside clothes in the closet, Makkachin disappears into the bedroom. Yukkachin doesn’t seem willing to stop touching him, such a complete change from the previous days that Viktor is almost ashamed of how he’s acting. But weariness outweighs the shame, and he lets himself collapse onto his bed again and slide under the covers. The dogs bracket him in, both settling in for an extended nap, and Viktor tries to follow suit.

Now, though, his treacherous brain is in a dull feedback loop. He finds himself thumbing his phone, unlocking it.

Figure skating social media is exploding with the news of Yuuri’s disappearance. From what Viktor can tell, they share quite a few fans with each other; that thought makes him smile a little. His fans have such good taste.

Other skaters are speaking out; Viktor sees messages of sympathy and support from the Crispino twins, Cao Bin, Chris, and other Japanese skaters. _#ComeHomeYuuri_ is trending internationally. He adds his own voice, hoping that his massive platform can help.

 

 **_v-nikiforov:_ ** _wish i could offer more than thoughts and prayers for Yuuri’s family. please, if anyone knows anything, come forward #ComeHomeYuuri_

 

Yuuri’s rinkmate Phichit retweets him instantly, adding **_@v-nikiforov_ ** _thank you so much viktor, it means a lot_

Viktor flashes back to his trip through Phichit’s Instagram and puts his phone aside. Yukkachin noses at his hand, and Viktor threads his fingers through the soft fur on the little poodle’s head. Without really meaning to, his eyes fall closed and he starts to doze off in the warm mid-morning sunlight.

 

_“Yuuri?”_

_The Japanese man blinks up at him, his eyes at half mast. “Hm. Viktor.” He smiles softly. “You’re so warm.”_

_Viktor stares down at the other skater, confused. Yuuri is dressed in the same suit he’d worn at the banquet, sans tie and jacket, and is laying with his head in Viktor’s lap. “How are you here?” Viktor asks, blinking._

_“Hm.” Yuuri closes his eyes. “Dunno.” He threads his fingers through Viktor’s, humming vaguely._

_“Where are you?” Viktor asks, despair and longing clawing through him._

_“I’m here,” Yuuri answers, as if it’s obvious. “With you.”_

_“I miss you,” Viktor admits._

_“But I’m here,” Yuuri insists sleepily._

_“This isn’t real,” Viktor says. “I wish you really were here with me.”_

_Yuuri hums again, not even deigning to answer. “I hate to see you sad. You shouldn’t be unhappy.”_

_“Then come home,” Viktor begs. “That would make me happy.”_

_“I can’t,” Yuuri says sadly, his eyebrows scrunched up. “I can’t go home. I have to stay here with you. You’ll be sad if I don’t.”_

_Viktor swallows. “Please, Yuuri.”_

_“Can’t I make you happy?” Yuuri touches Viktor’s face. “You’re crying.”_

_“Of course I’m crying!” Viktor says miserably._

_“Don’t cry,” Yuuri tells him, turning his face into Viktor’s thigh. “I’m here. I won’t leave you.”_

 

Viktor wakes up, feeling worse than when he’d fallen asleep. He couldn't have been asleep long, yet he can't recall what he was dreaming of… but it feels like he's forgetting something important. Makkachin is licking at his face, and judging by the scratchy sensation around his eyes, he’d probably been crying again.

Maybe Yakov was right, all those years ago. Maybe Viktor should go on medication. He hates this, crying on and off. If something can make him stop, then maybe it would be worth it.

The RSF would probably have to be in on it. Now that he thinks on it, it’ll be a huge fuss.

Unless he retires.

There’s a thought. He stares at the ceiling, the idea taking root in his mind. He could retire from competitive skating after the season ends. Maybe he could do some traveling, eat whatever he wants, gain some weight… he could finally choreograph Yura’s short programme for his senior debut, maybe even find some promising up-and-coming skaters to coach, like Stéphane had.

_Be my coach, Viktor!_

The idea gives him a soft, warm feeling in his chest. He has no idea how to coach, but it sounds like a wonderful challenge. And he’s been at the top for so long, maybe it’s time for him to leave the top of the podium to a new champion.

“I’m retiring,” he says aloud, trying it out. It feels good on his lips. “After this season, I plan to retire.”

Yes. That feels right. He’ll bring it up to Yakov when he’s ready to return to practice.

But that means that he’ll have to close out the season. Does he care about his standing at Nationals? At Europeans? At Worlds?

He really doesn’t care, he finds. He’s got more than enough medals in his trophy case. But his fans don’t deserve a shitty ending to his career. He owes it to them for their support.

 _Yuuri Katsuki…_ Viktor recalls Chris’s words from the day after the banquet. _He’s a huge fan._ Phichit’s lighthearted teasing on Instagram only proved that further.

_I won’t leave you. Don’t be sad._

He decides it then. He’ll finish out the season strong. He’ll do it for his fans. He’ll do it in Yuuri’s memory.

And then he’s done.

 

He gives himself the rest day to shake off the blues, but now he’s feeling reinvigorated. Now, he has a goal more precious than a medal.

He spends his day off with his dogs; Makkachin is more than happy to play tug-of-war and fetch, but Yukkachin remains glued to Viktor’s side, crying when Viktor puts him down to do things like cook and groom himself. Viktor spends the entire time brushing his teeth sitting on the tile floor, back to the cabinet, with Yukkachin curled up on his lap. As the day goes on, though, Yukkachin displays less separation anxiety and even curls up with Makkachin in the middle of the comforter as Viktor showers before bed. It’s so cute that Viktor can’t help but snap a pic to post on Instagram before he pulls back the covers, plugs in his phone, and settles in for an early night.

 

 **_v-nikiforov:_ ** _now that’s puppy love #stpetersburg #furbabies #poodles #dogtherapy #dogsofinstagram_

 **_christophe-gc:_ ** _new puppy is so cute, glad ur feeling better_

 **_mila.babicheva:_ ** _so sweet, i love yukka he’s such a lover_

 **_Yuri-Plisetsky:_ ** _almost as cute as potya. Almost._

 **_mila.babicheva:_ ** _@Yuri-Plisetsky come on yura admit it u think yukka’s sweet_

 **_Yuri-Plisetsky:_ ** _hes cool for a dog_

 **_sara-crispino:_ ** _awww they’re adorable!_

 **_mila.babicheva:_ ** _@Yuri-Plisetsky I SCREENSHOTTED THIS MOMENTOUS OCCASION_

 **_Yuri-Plisetsky:_ ** _@mila.babicheva omfg shut up u hag_

 **_gpopovich:_ ** _@mila.babicheva @Yuri-Plisetsky yakov says to get off your phones or else you’re drilling for the rest of the day_

 

Yakov is surprised to see Viktor in the next day, and watches him closely during practice. Viktor makes sure to not brush the coach’s concerns off like he’s known to do.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Yakov asks as Viktor takes a break against the boards. “I don’t want to see you like you were in Croatia that year.”

Viktor shakes his head. “I… I need to talk to you about something. About next season.”

Yakov seems relieved that Viktor is even mentioning the upcoming season, and he nods briskly before returning his attention to the others.

At the end of the day, after several run-throughs of his programmes and multiple drills, plus a quick jog home for the dogs’ midday walk, Viktor looks up from packing his things and sees Yakov waiting for him by the entrance to the locker room.

They exit the building together in silence, and then Yakov glances at his skater, expression unreadable. “Do you have to go home right away, or would you like to get coffee?”

“Ah, that’d be okay,” Viktor answers, and they duck into a cafe.

“So,” Yakov says once they’re seated near the window, clutching takeout cups. “What’s this you wanted to discuss with me?”

Viktor gulps, but steels himself. “Yakov, I’m grateful for everything you’ve ever done for me.”

Yakov, who had been stirring creamer into his coffee, goes completely still.

“I would never have gotten to where I am without you,” Viktor goes on. “I don’t think I tell you that enough.”

“What’s brought this on, Vitya?” Yakov asks, looking him right in the eye.

“I don’t think I want to return after this season.”

To someone who doesn’t know Yakov, his expression wouldn’t have changed. But Viktor can see the miniscule tells that give away Yakov’s feelings: the slight line between his eyebrows, He’s stunned, and a little hurt. “I shouldn’t be surprised,” he finally says, replacing the cap on his cup. “But I’m still not sure I understand why.”

“Yakov, don’t you think I’m getting too old for this?” Viktor asks, playing with a sugar packet. “I’ll be twenty-seven this year, I’m getting past my prime.”

“You are the top men’s singles skater in the world,” Yakov says flatly. “Regardless of your age.”

“Yura will make his senior debut,” Viktor tries, keeping his voice impassive. “And there are so many other skaters out there that will never even have a shot at the podium as long as I’m around--”

“Which is none of your concern,” Yakov interrupts him. “Vitya, I know you have had a trying few days. I understand Katsuki’s disappearance has caused you anguish. But you cannot allow these things to decide your future.”

“I don’t think you’re understanding where I’m coming from,” Viktor says, frowning. “Yakov, I’ve been giving this a lot of thought.”

“What would you even do?” Yakov demands. “What would you occupy your time with if you stopped skating?”

Viktor’s starting to feel tense again. “I was thinking of maybe trying out choreographing. Possibly even coaching.”

Yakov sighs. He’d been present at the banquet, near the end. “Katsuki again. Vitya--”

“You know, I could have just dropped this little bomb at a press conference without telling you,” Viktor adds in irritation. “Or, hell, just up and quit one day and leave you looking like an ass.”

“Am I supposed to be grateful for this?” Yakov snaps. “You’re emotionally unwell, you are in no shape to be making these kinds of decisions.”

Viktor laughs harshly. “You act as if I’m still Yura’s age. I’m a grown man, Yakov.”

“Have you outgrown good sense, then?” Yakov says, narrowing his eyes. “I refuse to listen to this ridiculousness. We’ll talk again when you’re well.” He stands, roughly shoving his chair back, and leaves without another word.

 

The atmosphere in the rink is tense for the following week. Viktor and Yakov’s exchanges are limited to short, terse sentences and monosyllabic answers, and Viktor can tell that the others are walking on eggshells around them. Viktor’s programmes are in good technical shape, so his focus is mostly on the presentation aspect. It’s something he’s never really been overly strong in - that’s always been Georgi’s forte - but. Well. His theme this year is longing, and now he knows how that feels.

He spends all of his free time at home, with the dogs. It’s not a huge departure of his lifestyle before this year’s Grand Prix Finale, but he knows he’s worrying his rinkmates. He also knows there’s nothing he can say to assuage their concerns. He scared them, badly - well, Yakov and Georgi at least, Mila and Yura are too young to remember the incident that took place well over a decade ago during Viktor’s pre-Juniors years.

That was the first time Viktor had heard the words “he might benefit from medication.” He’d balked at the idea when he was twelve - medication was for sick people, people who were broken. You only took medication when you had something wrong with you. At the time he’d thought, he wasn’t sick. He was just tired a lot and sometimes couldn’t make himself like things that he usually enjoyed. Everyone had days like that.

The thing was, he’d gotten worse after a grueling season ended with him messing up his ankle and being forced to sit the remainder of the season out. Without training and skating to occupy his time, he’d started to sink into a… well, a depression. He’d been forced into stillness, and that meant that there was a gaping silence for voices he tried to ignore to come hissing into his mind.

At one point, he’d convinced himself that he was worthless without skating and that he’d never set foot on the ice again. He stopped eating, and refused to leave his bedroom. It got to the point that Yakov had to drag him to the hospital, and the doctor he’d ended up seeing suggested that if Viktor wasn’t willing to go on meds, maybe another method would work.

The next week, Viktor was given a poodle puppy. And it didn’t fix him completely, but it helped.

Now, he wakes up to his two dogs wrestling on his chest, with Yukkachin putting up a surprisingly good fight. Makkachin, however, isn’t above using her size to pin him down and prevent him from wriggling free, no matter how hard he tries.

Viktor sits up and they immediately stop their play-fight, and he has to laugh at the expectant, bright-eyed looks on their faces with matching tail wags. “What would I do without you two?” he asks, pushing his covers off so he can climb out of bed.

It’s been a few days since the news of Yuuri’s disappearance, and Yukkachin now has his own doggy bed and food bowl, along with a few toys that he barely pays attention to. Makkachin is more than happy to play with them, but Yukkachin is more interested in following Viktor around and curling up on or near him when he’s sitting down or standing in one place. Viktor has never seen a dog act so clingy.

Today is the day that Yukkachin will finally go to Viktor’s vet. He leaves practice early to bring both dogs in, just to get it done with.

Katya, the receptionist, is happy to see Makkachin, who is equally happy to be fawned on and cooed over. On the other hand, Yukkachin hides behind Viktor’s ankles and tangles Viktor up in the leash. Katya is still charmed, even though Yukkachin refuses to approach her to even sniff her hand.

Dr. Ivanov is understanding when he comes into the room and finds Viktor trying to keep Yukkachin from jumping off the examination table when Viktor backs away.

“Separation anxiety?” the vet asks as Yukkachin presses himself into Viktor’s arms, shaking.

“He gets nervous when he’s in unfamiliar places and when he meets new people,” Viktor says. “I’m no expert, and he’s fine when I leave for practice and he stays home.”

“Poor boy,” Dr. Ivanov says, taking the leash from Viktor and tugging the resisting poodle across the table. “Does he bite?”

“He bit me once, when I overstepped my boundaries,” Viktor admits. “Do you want me to distract him?”

“Please do.”

Dr. Ivanov is quick and thorough with his exam, careful to not push Yukkachin out of his comfort zone. He notes a few things down as he goes. “Judging by his teeth, I’d say he’s about two years old.”

“You’ll always be a puppy to me,” Viktor tells Yukkachin, who whines.

“No chip,” Dr. Ivanov adds. “And he hasn’t been fixed yet. Are you thinking about that?”

Viktor frowns. “Is it a requirement?”

“Are you planning on breeding him?”

Viktor taps his chin as Yukkachin whines again. “Honestly? No, not really.”

“It can help with behavior,” Dr. Ivanov says. “Have you noticed any aggression or other issues?”

“No, he’s very well-behaved,” Viktor scratches the little poodle behind his ears. “Picked up on house-training very quickly, I’ve gotten him to sit and roll over with treats.”

“Might want to slow down on the treats,” Dr. Ivanov wags his eyebrows and pats Yukkachin’s flank. “You don’t want to add too much body mass on such a small frame.”

“I can’t help but spoil that face,” Viktor says, smiling. Yukkachin starts shaking again, and Dr. Ivanov removes his hand. “I was thinking of getting these two cleared for travel. Can I start that process with you?”

“Ah, you will have to look that up yourself, but I will be happy to assist with any medical procedures and checkups that you’ll require.” Dr. Ivanov eyes Yukkachin and smooths down his mustache. “How was he when you transported him back here?”

“He did have a fit on the plane,” Viktor admits. “I was able to calm him down until he fell asleep, though.”

“Still, you might want to look into one of those comfort vests in the meantime,” the vet says, tugging a brochure from a holder on the wall. “This one is very popular and widely available.”

Viktor examines the front of the pamphlet, which declared the Thundershirt to be the #1 pet behavior alteration tool in the world. “I think I saw something like it in the pet store the other day,” he says. “If it works, I’ll get it.”

“Should I also put him down to be neutered?”

Viktor shakes his head. “I’ll get that taken care of during the off-season, if that’s all right. If this Thundershirt thing helps with his behavior, maybe he won’t have to lose his two best friends.”

Dr. Ivanov snickers, but acquiesces. “If you end up as an unintentional grandfather, it’s on you.”

“Yukkachin is a perfect gentleman,” Viktor replies, smoothing down the fleece on the dog’s back.

“Wonderful. Well, other than what I suspect is a case of anxiety, he appears quite healthy.” Dr. Ivanov removes his examination gloves and picks up his clipboard again. “I’ll finish up the paperwork for his bloodwork, and we’ll wrap this up for you.”

“Great,” Viktor says just before Yukkachin literally throws himself into his arms.

 

Yukkachin does _not_ like the needle. He whines and cries in Viktor’s hold as Dr. Ivanov draws blood from his neck. Viktor feels bad about causing the little dog pain but it has to be done.

After the vet, Viktor takes both poodles home and gives them treats to make up for the checkups. Makkachin is happy to play for a bit before curling up on her dog bed, but Yukkachin disappears under Viktor’s bed for a while. It’s only when Viktor scoops the food for the dogs’ dinner that Yukkachin comes out again.

He’s just settling down to reheated leftovers for himself when his intercom buzzes.

Viktor frowns and puts aside his utensils so he can cross the room and press the buzzer. He’s surprised when Yura’s is the voice that answers him. He buzzes the younger skater in, and Yura himself knocks on his door within a few minutes.

“You left early today,” Yura says, eying Viktor’s dinner on the counter.

“Yeah, I had to bring the dogs to the vet.”

Yura nods. “Okay.”

“Did you think I had another bad day?” Viktor asks, touched.

Yura makes a face at him, but Viktor can see through it.

“I’m fine,” Viktor says anyway, and Yura narrows his eyes at him. “Really. I mean it.”

“You’ve been… different.” Yura leans against the doorframe. “Lately.”

Viktor gestures towards the interior of his apartment. “You want to come in? You’re letting out the heat.”

Yura rolls his eyes and pushes off the wall, stepping inside so Viktor can shut his door.

“So.”

Viktor eyes his younger rinkmate as Yura steps into the middle of the living room. Makkachin noses at his hand, and he absently pets her on the forehead. Yukkachin, on the other hand, stays at Viktor’s heel.

Yura seems so small, for some reason. His normal presence is diminished, like he’s been chastened. “Yakov’s been in a bad mood all week,” he says.

Viktor winces. “That’s my fault. I’m sorry.”

“What did you do?” Yura demands, a flash of his almost customary anger coming through.

Viktor shrugs, stooping down to scoop up Yukkachin, who settles into his arms as if he can sense Viktor’s unease. “I was talking to him about next season.”

“You still owe me a programme,” Yura reminds him, eyes narrowing.

“Don’t worry, you’ll get it.” Viktor reassures the teen. He can search through his music library and see what inspires him later.

Yura is still looking at him with no little trepidation. “Why do I feel like you’re not telling me something?”

Viktor is too mentally exhausted to do the dance with Yura, who would not be willing to drop the subject like Yakov had been. He plasters his public smile onto his face. “It’s none of your business, really.”

Yura’s expression goes blank, and he meets Viktor’s gaze straight on. “What isn’t?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“You can’t stay stuck on it,” Yura says. “You can’t stay stuck on the banquet.”

“I’m not,” Viktor lies. It still stings to think of, still makes his heart ache to remember. But it’s not going to do him any good to fixate on it. Yura is right, but Viktor isn’t in the mood to admit it aloud.

“Yeah. Sure.” Yura looks down at Yukkachin in Viktor’s arms. “And you didn’t name your new dog after _him_.”

Viktor doesn’t deny it. Denial is pointless. He smiles sadly and shrugs. “I’m not sure what the issue is.”

“You know that after forty-eight hours, it’s less likely for--”

“Yura.”

The younger skater falls silent as Viktor takes a deep breath, composing himself.

“I know you’re concerned about me.”

Yura opens his mouth to argue, but Viktor talks over him.

“And I know I haven’t been acting normal. But I’m working on it. I promise.” Viktor crosses his arms over his chest. “I’ll work on your programme after Nationals.”

The senior skaters leave for Yekaterinburg in two days. Viktor has already arranged for his dog sitter to come by and meet Yukkachin later on in the evening, so his new dog wouldn’t be startled when she showed up to care for him. He’s functioning. It’s the best he can do at the moment.

Yura searches his face, his eyes shining strangely. “You’re not coming back after this season, are you?”

Viktor shrugs.

“Is it because of Katsuki?” Yura demands. “You’d seriously throw away your career for a guy who grinded on you and then disappeared the next day?”

“No,” Viktor says curtly. “I wouldn’t throw away my career for anyone else. I do what I want for myself, and if I decide to retire after this season then it’s my business.”

“So that’s why Yakov is angry with you.”

“Again, this is none of your business.” Viktor leans back on his heels, tilts his chin up. “You should worry about the Junior Nationals.”

“I can’t believe this!” Yura says incredulously. “You’ve lost your mind over--”

“I already said I would choreograph your senior debut,” Viktor interrupts him. “I won’t go back on my promise. Please, Yura. This isn’t something you need to worry about.”

Yura closes his mouth, his eyebrows drawing together. There’s a moment of silence before he speaks again.  “All this time, before the GPF… was _that_ the real you?”

Viktor sighs, and Yukkachin whines at his elbow. “Yura, please.”

Yura looks away and brushes past Viktor, not meeting the older skater’s eyes as he lets himself out of Viktor’s apartment.

Viktor is left in the silence of an empty space, a place where he lived that wasn’t _home_ , with two dogs that were at some times the only reasons he got out of bed in the morning. For a second, he can imagine an apartment filled with life, the laughter of someone he was happy to see after a long day at the rink, the warm smells of home cooking in his kitchen.

He loves his dogs, yes, but he’s been ignoring his loneliness for too long. Among other things.

The next day, he calls his primary care physician and sets up an appointment for after Nationals.

 

It’s not instantaneous.

Viktor easily takes home the gold in Yekaterinburg, and Yakov has very little to criticize him about. They’re still not really talking much, but Yakov did gruffly admit that Viktor’s performances were more heartfelt than before.

After he gets back, he finds a note from his dog sitter: apparently Yukkachin had hidden under his bed for most of the week, refusing to even come out to eat. The little dog is so happy to see Viktor coming home that he launches himself out from his hiding place and climbs into his lap, squirming so much that he falls off multiple times. It takes a lot of reassuring before Viktor can get Yukkachin to eat, and by the time he’s done walking the dogs that evening it seems like Yukkachin has forgiven Viktor for seemingly abandoning him. He’s got a month before Europeans, so hopefully he’ll be able to work on Yukkachin’s separation anxiety in the meantime. The vet called for a follow-up, which Viktor still has to schedule.

And speaking of schedules…

Viktor’s primary care physician is a middle-aged man named Mikhailov, and while Viktor has a yearly checkup to make sure that everything is in working order, he’s never gone in during the season without a serious injury to look at.

Dr. Mikhailov sits at the computer terminal as Viktor talks about the past month, describing the lethargy and the sudden emotional crash triggered by the GPF’s aftermath. He doesn’t look surprised.

“I have a note here from your pediatrician,” he eventually says, tapping his tablet stylus against his chin. “She noted that following your injury during your junior years you experienced extreme emotional withdrawal and an extended period of depression.”

“Sounds about right.”

“You haven’t brought it up since,” Dr. Mikhailov adds, brows furrowed. He doesn’t sound accusing, merely curious. “Why address it now?”

Viktor thinks about it. Yura’s words come back to him. “I don’t think I’ve been my true self very much,” he finally admits. “The things I used to love, they no longer bring me joy. I’ve felt so numb for so long, and I want to feel things again.”

 _Even the sad stuff._ He’s already decided he’d take every shred of heartache if it means he can be capable of the joy that a single drunken night of dancing could bring him.

Dr. Mikhailov nods. “I can recommend a therapist to get you started, and you’ll have to consult a psychiatrist if your therapist decides you need medication. Are you opposed to medication?”

Viktor shakes his head. If it breaks down the glass wall between him and his emotions, he’ll do whatever the psychiatrist tells him to.

Dr. Mikhailov sends him home with the therapist’s card and an appointment for the next week, and it’s like there’s a light at the end of the tunnel. Viktor spares a moment to wonder what he’ll be like, if he gets this help. Maybe every day will feel like the banquet.

As he walks the dogs later on, he allows himself to fantasize about it. It’s kind of sad, how strange it feels to daydream about just being content.

He reflects that he’ll have to clear any medication through official channels. He’s already practicing what he’ll tell Yakov. But he’s set this thing in motion. He can only have faith that it will be worth seeing it through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [to be concluded]
> 
> Okay so serious talk: I based a lot of Yuuri's anxiety and Viktor's depression on my own experiences with both. And you know what? Anxiety and depression suck. Seriously. If you are feeling similar to the stuff depicted here at all, please talk to someone who can help; a parent, a doctor, a teacher or counselor, someone you trust. Please, depression sucks. Anxiety sucks. No one should have to live with it.
> 
> Okay, onto fic things: I'm gonna admit that I don't know as much about medications in the context of professional sports, but I assume that this kind of stuff has forms and paperwork attached? Feel free to edumacate the Lii on things she doesn't understand. Also you'res not the only one shaking their heads at Viktor's hesitation to get his new puppy fixed but I do know guys who have said something along the lines of what he said. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ So yeah, it goes without saying, FIX YOUR PETS. We don't live in a world where angry fangirls can turn athletes into dogs. Fix your pets!
> 
> ETA: if you want to come yell at me on Twitter or Tumblr, I'm linneakou pretty much everywhere!!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> H O L Y SCHNOZZBERRIES IT IS DONE
> 
> HOLY COW ON A STICK
> 
> WOW. What a journey.
> 
> Extra special thanks to Helle and Gab for the beta, and to the BBOI and Gude Shite discord servers for the cheerleading and hand-holding.
> 
> OKAY. SOME NOTES AND ADVANCE WARNINGS.
> 
> THIS CHAPTER IS REALLY, REALLY LONG. Twice as long as the previous two. I DON'T KNOW WHAT HAPPENED.
> 
> There is sexual content in here. I kept it pretty non-explicit, and it's very short, but Viktor does have sex with an original character. It's also probably important to know that he's not in his best headspace when he does so.
> 
> Also, guys, you thought the last chapter was sad and angsty? Um. Please hydrate. Please. (Speaking from experience, here. I cried constantly while writing this and gave myself dehydration headaches.)
> 
> And also, I should note that while I strive for real-world accuracy in some bits (timelines, ISU regulations, etc.) I completely 100% ignored the regulations for bringing pets into Japan because PLOT REASONS. So. Yeah. To be fair, it's kind of canon? You'll see.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has commented and messaged me throughout the internet about this fic. I love you all so much, thank you for taking this strange journey with me.

Viktor sees a therapist three times over the next few weeks, wins gold at Europeans, and then finds himself in a small, cozy office, talking to a soft-spoken woman named Dr. Deriugina. A psychiatrist.

Despite the rather rustic decoration in in her office, Dr. Deriugina takes notes on an iPad in between asking him very specific questions about his moods and feelings and listening to him answer. Her eyes never leave his face, and it makes him want to squirm as he explains how the week after the GPF had gone.

“This is so embarrassing,” he says, looking away to stare at a painting hanging on the wall opposite him.

“No, it’s not,” Dr. Deriugina says. “I don’t mean to belittle you, and I realize this is difficult to talk about, but you need to know that you are not the only one to experience this sort of thing.”

“It’s practically imaginary,” Viktor mutters. “And it’s selfish of me to be wallowing in self-pity like this when there are people worse off out there.” _Here I am feeling sorry for myself when Yuuri Katsuki’s family is out there suffering._

“Don’t you dare fall into that trap,” Dr. Deriugina says shortly, her brows drawing together. “Listen, if you aren’t willing to meet me in the middle on this then I don’t know if I can help you. I know there is a lot of stigma among athletes about medications and mental health, but this is just as real as a broken bone. Your body is telling you that something is wrong, and we have the tools to fix it. What’s wrong with using them?”

Viktor finally meets her eyes again, but says nothing.

“What about your family and friends?” she presses. “Don’t you owe it to them to take care of yourself?”

Viktor laughs harshly. “I have two dogs,” he says sardonically. “That’s all I’ve got for family.”

“Do it for them, then,” Dr. Deriugina says, almost passionately. “And maybe one day you’ll be able to do it for yourself.”

 

Later on, as he lays in bed with Makkachin and Yukkachin’s warm bodies draped over his chest, he winces as he goes over the meeting with the psychiatrist in his head.

He’d been actually looking forward to the appointment, after talking with his new therapist about possible medications and what they could do for him. And then, after a few weeks of settling into a routine, something changed in his mind. Suddenly, walking into the office, he felt incredibly stupid.

He’ll have to apologize to Dr. Deriugina at his check-in in a month. In the meantime, he’d filled a prescription for an antidepressant that he couldn’t even pronounce, and had taken the first dose at dinner.

He doesn’t feel any different, having taken it. But then again, how would he know?

He closes his eyes and tries to quiet his racing mind, focusing on the dogs’ soft breathing and his own. Makkachin shifts in her sleep, snuggling closer to him, and he smiles and thanks his lucky stars for the both of them.

Europeans hadn’t helped his mindset, for the most part. Being surrounded by his fellow skaters had lulled him back into his pre-Sochi mood, and he’d had a multitude of nightmares upon landing in Slovakia.

While in Bratislava, Chris had taken him out for drinks after the free skate once they had both wriggled free of the press and the official duties of gold and silver medalist, respectively. He’d called an Uber and whisked Viktor off to a secluded bar where they could drink unmolested. And then he’d determinedly distracted Viktor for hours, talking about utterly mundane things, oohing at Viktor’s photos of the dogs, and bemoaning his woes as the eternal silver medalist. It had been a pleasant night.

On the other hand, his relationship with Yakov has not become any less awkward since That Day, and Viktor has no idea how to fix that. His therapist had emphasized that he focus on the things he personally can control, and that he has to take charge in his life and do what he needs to in order to fulfill himself. Yakov’s feelings about Viktor’s decisions are not up to Viktor, the counselor had said repeatedly. Ultimately, what’s right for Viktor may not mesh with what others want for him, but it’s really not up to them.

It’s still hard, though, to go back to the rink and the tense, stilted atmosphere that had developed between him and his coach. Luckily, Viktor has always been somewhat self-sufficient, so Yakov had spent a lot of time working with the others for Europeans. Now that the competition is over, the first week afterwards will be something of a break. Well, as much of a break as any of them are willing to take.

There is some tension between Viktor and Yura, as well. The younger skater doesn’t talk to him as much anymore, preferring to drill quads a respectable distance away from him. Viktor isn’t quite sure what to make of this: on the one hand, Yura isn’t bothering him about choreographing his senior debut. On the other hand, it leaves Viktor rather alone at the rink as both Mila and Georgi are also very focused on the upcoming competition and only really spare a moment to chat during the short breaks outside of their lunch, which Viktor skips anyway to walk the dogs.

In fact, if he’s being honest, the person he’s talking to the most is still Chris, who calls him despite the timezone differences, texts him with reminders to eat, and sends him pictures of his cat while asking for updates on the dogs. Chris also carefully does not mention Sochi and the banquet and the Japanese man who stole Viktor’s heart.

Chris is a godsend who keeps telling him that he needs to make other human friends. Too bad Viktor isn’t really doing that.

When he’s not at the rink or on the phone, Viktor is doing research. He gets Yukkachin chipped and vaccinated. He looks up the requirements for transporting pets out of the country.

It hit him, after the first session with his therapist. _Off-season vacation._ He can’t spend all of his free time cooped up in his St. Petersburg apartment. If he absolutely must return to compete in the next season, he’s going to get out and explore the outside world before the chains dragged him back onto the rink.

And there’s one place he’s been thinking of going.

Japan has a rather strict policy for bringing pets into the country. Makkachin is all set to enter the country, but Yukkachin is probably going to need to be certified. He started the process with the vet’s office the previous week, and Yukkachin should be ready for travel after Worlds.

Viktor has performed in Fantasy On Ice a few times, and has gone to a couple major competitions in Japan. In fact, this year’s World Championships is in Tokyo. And he _does_ like Tokyo, but…

But he’s thinking of the countryside, which he’s only glimpsed in travel documentaries and the two Miyazaki movies he’s seen. He’s thinking of the ocean, and cherry blossoms, and small towns.

Something deep inside him is screaming to go to Yuuri Katsuki’s hometown. He can’t explain it.

He had another strange dream the other night, one that he can only recall bits and pieces of. A familiar voice, dark eyes, warm touches… _I miss home. I wish I could see home again…_

Viktor’s home is St. Petersburg, but he’s been here his whole life. And something is drawing him to Hasetsu, like the moon pulled the tide. Like a magnet facing True North. And Viktor doesn’t want to resist it.

He remembers Yuuri at odd, random times. He doesn’t know why he keeps coming back to that night in Sochi, nor does he understand why he still feels so drawn to the memory of the Japanese skater, why he still feels connected to him… even though it’s more than likely that he’ll never surface again.

Viktor saw the tributes at All-Japan, and the speculation on SNS. Yuuri hasn’t been declared legally deceased yet, as that tends to take years. But… over a month had gone by without any leads on his whereabouts. Statistics are not on his side. And Viktor has no right to be indignant about it, but people are already moving on. The sports world is shifting focus to other things.

He has to stifle the irrational belief that if the media kept circulating Yuuri’s face, something would happen. Someone would see it and go “oh, that’s the guy with amnesia in my guest room” and everything would be okay. But that’s a fantasy.

He had been utterly ashamed to admit these imaginings to his therapist, who both sympathized with him and agreed that it was probably an unhealthy attachment. But there would be mornings when Viktor would wake up with Yuuri’s voice in his ear and the ache of longing in his chest, and he couldn’t explain why that kept happening.

It had happened in Bratislava; in fact, Viktor can actually remember bits of one dream from that week. The memory of it is unsettling to think about, even more so in the dark. It had shaken him badly, happening on the night before the free skate.

Maybe, going to Hasetsu and paying tribute to the missing skater will help him close the book on his… borderline obsession. He can feel it in his heart of hearts, that it’s the right thing to do.

His sleep that night is peaceful, and he wakes in the morning feeling refreshed and energized. He wonders if it’s the meds, or if something else had an effect on him, but ultimately decides that it doesn’t matter as long as he’s feeling well. He completes his morning routine with a pep in his step and sets out for the rink, enjoying the sunlight straining through the midwinter clouds.

 

 _Stammi Vicino_ is by far the most sentimental skate he’s ever done. At this rate, he thinks it may be his peak not just for this season, but for his career.

What a fitting way to go out. If only he could.

He’s thought it over, done the financial math. He could comfortably retire this year, after Worlds. It’s not like his sponsors haven’t gotten plenty of good years out of him at this point. Viktor could keep taking contracts and performing in ice shows and still live well. And if he started choreographing and coaching, the fees would be more than enough to cover any gaps that he may encounter. Competitive figure skating itself is expensive, so if he retired that was one less thing he had to worry about.

But he recalls his utter failure of a conversation with Yakov, and with a sigh he shelves thoughts of retirement to do a full run-through of his short programme.

Yakov watches him with a considering expression, but to Viktor’s disappointment he does not speak to Viktor beyond calling out corrections and repeats. Viktor is actually beginning to miss his nagging.

That night, Viktor tries to cook for himself - he’s actually hungry, for a change. When he’s able to manage a fairly decent pot of pasta - whole grain, with olive oil and light cheese instead of sauce, he’s not going to demolish his competitive season diet - he’s actually proud enough of the results that he Instagrams his food.

Hunger sated and meds taken, Viktor settles into bed with his laptop and ends up watching a stupidly violent British spy movie that for some reason has his favorite Mr. Darcy in it. It’s not his typical fare, but he still enjoys it. Makkachin falls asleep fairly quickly after he starts the movie, but Yukkachin is more active and captures Viktor’s hand between his front paws, refusing to relinquish it. Viktor has to laugh as the little dog gives his captive hand a tongue bath; clearly, he hadn’t washed up well enough after dinner to get rid of all traces of his meal.

After the movie, he ends up watching stupid vines for another hour or so before his eyes begin to droop. He closes his laptop and puts it aside with a yawn, getting up to brush his teeth before sliding under his covers and resettling with Yukkachin on his chest. The poodle licks his chin and rests his head on his collarbone with a little sigh.

Viktor echoes him and closes his eyes, and drifts off quickly.

 

At his one-month check-in, Dr. Deriugina asks him if he’s noticing any changes in his energy levels. Viktor looks back on the past few weeks and realizes that yes, his energy levels have been fluctuating.

“I’ve definitely been more energetic,” he says, and Dr. Deriugina jots it down. “But it tends to wear off after lunch. And it isn’t consistent.”

“Perhaps you require a different dosage,” Dr. Deriugina muses. “How much medication is left in your current prescription?”

“Maybe a week’s worth?” Viktor does the math in his head and nods. “A little over a week’s worth.”

“And you haven’t been skipping any?”

“Not consciously.”

Dr. Deriugina nods. “Try not to skip any doses from here on out. You can finish up what’s left of the bottle, and then start this new prescription.” She sends off an order on her iPad - Viktor had already given her his pharmacy’s contact information the last time he’d come by - and writes him a note on when it will be ready to pick up. “This one might have some side effects on your… er, libido.”

Viktor shrugs. “I’m not really all that active.”

“Still, it’s something to be aware of.”

Viktor nods and thanks her for the heads-up, but he’s not concerned about it. So what if his libido takes a hit? It’s not like he’s really interested in getting any action as of late.

 

A few weeks into the new meds and he discovers that it’s quite the opposite.

The new pills are to be split in two and taken every twelve hours or so. Viktor notices two things: one, his energy is more evenly distributed throughout the day.

Two, his sex drive is actually starting to wake up again. He hadn’t even known it had been decreasing before.

Suddenly, he has to take time for himself in the shower after a day in the rink, or in bed when the dogs are snoozing on the couch. It’s weird, but a basic search on the internet reveals that the new meds have been known to have that effect on people taking them.

He confides this to Chris, who thankfully snorts once and only once before suggesting that Viktor try to get laid. Funny enough, Chris himself seems to be settling down into a monogamous relationship. It suits him.

Viktor, on the other hand, finds himself too busy to hunt down potential one-night stands. And to be honest, he now finds the idea a bit uncomfortable, when he hadn’t in the past. In any case, he doesn’t.

The next couple of months pass with Viktor adjusting to the meds, keeping to his routine, and slowly rebuilding his relationships with his rink mates. Yakov, by the end of February, is talking to him in complete sentences again. Viktor doesn’t bring up his thoughts on his career, and Yakov doesn’t press him about the next season.

Yura is surprisingly easy to reconcile with, when Viktor eventually reveals that he had selected two potential songs for a short programme. Viktor doesn’t have the choreography nailed down yet, but he’s got the entire offseason to work on it. Yura is satisfied with that, and warms up to Viktor enough that he constantly reminds Viktor of his promise.

“You’re forgetful,” the teen says one day, less than a fortnight before Junior Worlds. “If I don’t stop reminding you, you might fly off to Mars and never remember.”

Viktor frowns. “I wouldn’t.”

“You _would_ ,” Yura answers without looking at him.

They bicker about it for the rest of the day, and well into the next. It isn’t until Yura is about to leave with Yakov for Junior Worlds that he reminds Viktor of what had sparked the back-and-forth. Mila laughs at them for hours.

The build-up to Worlds is something that Viktor is no stranger to, but this year feels different somehow. Muted. He’s not sure if it’s him, or if everyone else feels it.

Upon his arrival in Tokyo for the championships, Viktor is again reminded of his plans to visit Kyushu. There are posters spread throughout the arena of various skaters, both up-and-coming youngsters making their senior debuts and established veterans with all numbers of medals to their names. Of course, Yuuri Katsuki is featured prominently among them.

Viktor finds himself encountering Yuuri’s face wherever he goes in Tokyo. There are posters and billboards dotting the city’s face, and everything that Viktor finds on social media indicates that the presence of the World Championships in Tokyo has more or less torn the bandage off of the wound that is Yuuri’s disappearance. All over SNS, fans and Japanese skaters alike are tweeting tributes - one young skater from Yuuri’s home region has dedicated every performance since the GPF to Yuuri - and skaters that Yuuri had been friendly with have been answering (uncalled for) questions from reporters about their thoughts on their missing fellow.

Phichit Chulanont had burst his way onto the international scene during the Four Continents, scraping a qualification for Worlds with almost a desperate edge. Other than Viktor himself, Phichit had been the longest holdout, constantly bringing back Yuuri’s picture and dropping it into his feed so that it would be re-circulated. But it’s now the end of March, and he seems to be accepting defeat. It’s… heartbreaking.

Viktor is asked, of course, very early on - he’d competed against Yuuri in the GPF, and he’s one of the biggest names in figure skating. But he’s asked once, and then the conversations move on. He’s able to give an answer that is both honest and vague - “my heart goes out to his family and friends; I can’t imagine what they must be going through” - and it’s enough. Thank goodness for that.

But the very first night he lands in Tokyo with Yakov and the other seniors, he has another nightmare.

 

_“Why did you leave?” Yuuri asks him, seeming so fragile. He shrinks away when Viktor approaches him. “Did I make you angry? I thought I was being better.”_

_“You haven’t done anything to me,” Viktor tries to reassure him. “I wish you were here.”_

_“I wish I were too,” Yuuri says softly. He looks at Viktor, dark eyes shining in misery. “I miss you. I miss home. I don’t want this…”_

_“Yuuri, there are so many people here who miss you.”_

_“I’m sorry.” Yuuri curls in on himself, and Viktor is suddenly so far away from him despite not moving at all. “I’m hurting everyone.”_

_“Yuuri--”_

 

Viktor encounters Yuuri’s former coach on the first day of open practice. He’s waiting at the boards with Phichit, who is in the next group.

Viktor can see Yakov watching him out of the corner of his eye, but as the voice over the speakers announces that the current group’s time is up, he skids to a halt in front of the Italian man. “Coach Cialdini.”

Cialdini looks surprised to see Viktor talking to him, but retains his composure. “Hello, Viktor. Your routine looked very good out there.”

Viktor waves the man’s compliment off - he hadn’t slept very well after waking from his nightmare, and it had shown throughout the morning’s session. “It’s not where I want it to be.” He smiles tiredly, but the expression wavers too quickly. “I just… wanted to express my condolences to you. I know this must be hard.”

Phichit is watching him with an unreadable expression as Cialdini’s face falls a little. “I admit, it’s difficult to be here with only one of my skaters,” the coach answers. “But he would want us to keep going.”

Viktor nods. “That’s… yes.” He looks at the young Thai skater, only a few years older than Yura. The young man’s face is drawn and serious, which Viktor knows is uncharacteristic of him. He’s seen enough of Phichit’s Instagram feed to know that. “Good luck out there, Phichit.”

Phichit smiles, a small, tight thing. “Thanks. You too, Viktor.”

Viktor can hear Yakov calling him, so he nods to them again and makes his way to exit the rink.

“What was that?” Georgi asks as he’s lacing up for his time on the ice.

Viktor doesn’t answer. The echo of a dream whispers in his ear, _“I’m hurting everyone.”_

“That was sportsmanship,” Yakov says gruffly, not meeting Viktor’s eye. He then begins to talk about what weaknesses Viktor had shown on the ice, and it’s comforting to focus on that until Georgi’s group is called to the rink and Yakov leaves Viktor to finish dressing down for the day.

 

Viktor takes an early lead with the SP. The night before, he takes a sleep aid given to him by his psychiatrist for the times when the nightmares begin to mess with his sleep schedule. His rest is uninterrupted by dreams, leaving him in much better shape than the first day of practice.

There are a lot of contenders that are making strong starts, even if they aren’t quite landing in the top ten. Chris performs well, as Viktor expected him to. Other skaters that he’s encountered before, either in passing or previous competitions, are also pulling off dazzling feats of athleticism; the Kazakh skater manages to rack up a very impressive score right out of the gate, and a flashy Canadian proves to have quite a bit of star power on his side, dazzling a good many of the fans in the stadium.

Watching some of the first few groups on the TV while waiting for his group’s turn at the very end, Viktor catches a few of the younger competitors in the kiss and cry. One of them is the Japanese skater from Yuuri’s region, a young man with brightly-dyed hair. He seems disappointed in his scores, which hadn’t broken the triple digits. He’s still young, and Viktor knows this isn’t the end for him.

Phichit Chulanont scores well, but it isn’t enough to break into the top ten. He seems resigned in the kiss and cry, but Viktor can see the fire of determination already blazing in him. It’s impressive enough that a Thai skater has managed to shoulder his way into the World Championships. He deserves to be proud.

After all is said and done, with Viktor comfortably in front with Chris and a few other familiar faces, it’s a relief to take the next day off and cheer on Mila and a few of the other Russian ladies singles competitors for their SP’s. Mila is able to claw her way into the top five, as is one of her friends. The rinkmates celebrate that night - responsibly, of course - before spending the next day in the practice arena, preparing for the free skate. Viktor catches the highlights of the pairs skating, and Georgi is notably absent on the day that his girlfriend Anya competes in the short dance.

Viktor continues taking the sleep aids, trying to stave off the nightmares he knows are waiting at the edge of his mind. His dog sitter texts him the night of the pairs SP, telling him that Yukkachin had been having anxiety attacks for the past day and letting him know that she’d put the Thundershirt on him and left it on for most of the afternoon. Yukkachin didn’t much like the Thundershirt, but it did manage to calm him down. Viktor feels badly about his dog’s emotional distress, and tells his dog sitter to do whatever she needs to in order to make Yukkachin feel better.

The day of the men’s free skate dawns muted and cloudy, the daylight strained and dim. Viktor spends the day indoors, warming up and working out the kinks of his programme for once last performance. His exhibition is less demanding, and had been choreographed for more fun, and he’s looking forward to that.

 _Stammi Vicino_ , however, is something that he’s almost halfway dreading. It feels finite, like something is about to crescendo and crash down all around him. He can’t explain it, which seems to be a reoccurring thing with him as of late. He mentions it to Chris, who is in his performance group.

“You said you wanted to dedicate your wins to Yuuri’s memory,” Chris reminds him as they wait in the back room for their group to be called. They’re speaking in French, quietly and away from the other competitors. “I know you’re working on getting over what happened after the Grand Prix Finale, but… well, your theme is longing, isn’t it?”

Viktor sighs. “It feels like I’m letting go, like I’m giving up on something that I wanted.”

“But couldn’t have,” Chris agrees, not unkindly. He pats Viktor’s shoulder. “You’ve come a long way, though. Sometimes a door has to close for another one to open. Maybe you should let it - whatever _it_ is - end after all.”

Viktor can’t figure out what to say to that, but Chris seems to understand. He gives him a sympathetic smile, and then it’s their turn.

 

The gold is heavy around his neck, but that’s okay. He didn’t really win it for himself, after all.

 

“What are your plans for next season?”

Viktor has been answering this question all of _this_ season, in both official capacities and casual conversations, and he still can’t give a satisfying answer. Chris is looking at him with an expression of concern as he dances the public relations dance at the medalists’ press conference after the ceremony. It’s a relief when it finally ends and he’s able to go back to the hotel and collapse onto his bed.

He sleeps for an hour or so before dragging himself down to the hotel’s lobby with half a mind to go find somewhere to eat, but bumps into a familiar face.

“Viktor! Long time no see!” Oskar Kowalski grins and shakes his hand. “Were you just heading out? Mind if I join you?”

Oskar had debuted at the same time as Viktor, and had been Poland’s top skater to beat at the Olympics in 2010 before he blew out his knee in 2013 and shifted his focus to commentary and sports reporting. Viktor tends to run into him often during the season.

“Sure, I was going to get something starchy,” Viktor says, his smile mostly genuine.

They end up at an udon place, and share a bottle of celebratory sake between them. And then some. A few refills in, and Viktor’s feeling looser than he has in a while. Conversation is easy and natural, as they shit-talk politicians and celebrities from their respective homelands. Oskar is one of the few people that can make Viktor laugh at things that normally wouldn’t be funny.

It’s the sake that Viktor blames for when they’re fumbling their way back into Oskar’s room a few hours later. This isn’t his first time tumbling into a rival’s bed, or even his first time with Oskar. A few things are different this time; Oskar isn’t as fit as he had been before, softer where he had been muscular, his hair closer-cropped and a goatee where he’d been clean-shaven. Still, he manages to unbutton Viktor’s shirt while sucking a hickey onto Viktor’s neck, and Viktor is just on the right side of drunk as all hell so that things are pleasantly fuzzy and soft. It’s been so long since someone else touched him, and thanks to the meds kicking up his libido Viktor is more than raring to go.

For the first time in a while, he lets go of control. Loses himself in the other man’s touch, in the eventual slide and the stretch and the pressure and the _good, good_ feeling. It’s almost too much, and he’s white-knuckling the hotel bedsheets as they move, and suddenly it’s not enough.

Viktor chases the pleasure, claws at it, grasps at it for a quick second before it slips away again, and it’s all wrong, wrong, wrong―

Oskar jerks against him, breathing heavily, and takes Viktor in hand, and everything slips away from Viktor in a few slick seconds.

 

He wakes hours later, sore and covered in sweat and other things, and Oskar is snoring away next to him. Viktor slowly levers himself out of the bed, scribbles a note on the pad of paper that the hotel had set on the desk for the room’s occupant. Just an inane thank-you for the previous night’s company. For what it’s worth.

Even if Viktor feels more hollow than he’d felt before.

He carefully puts himself back together and lets himself out of Oskar’s room, trudging back up to his own. As he steps into a punishingly hot shower, threads of a dream tickle at his memory.

 _Must have been another nightmare._ He’s not sure if he’s grateful that he can’t remember.

He carefully scrubs himself off and steps out of the tub, wincing at the pain. He hasn’t bottomed in a long time before tonight, maybe even longer than the last time he’d had actual sex.

Viktor is toweling off by the bed, searching for some comfortable clothes that he can slip into for the rest of the night, when a glint of gold catches his eye. He picks up his World Championship medal and examines it, feeling strangely detached and clinical.

It’s just a piece of metal on a ribbon. It’s just an object. It’s heavy in his palm, but it doesn’t feel like anything important. He drops it back into his suitcase and shrugs into clean athletic pants and a sweatshirt, slips on comfortable shoes, and lets himself out of his hotel room once more. He’s still antsy, still restless.

He ends up on the hotel roof. It’s cold and windy, and quiet. Somehow, that’s comforting to him.

He’s playing with his phone, swiping through his photo album of the GPF banquet, when the door to the roof squeaks open. Viktor looks up and meets Yakov’s eyes as his coach steps out into the chilly night air.

“Vitya.”

Viktor nods, putting his phone back to sleep and slipping it into his pocket.

“I expected you to be out celebrating,” Yakov said gruffly.

Viktor shrugs. “I celebrated a little.”

“Hah. A little.” Yakov looks at his damp hair, and Viktor suddenly remembers that he probably has a very vivid lovebite on his neck. He feels a blush flare up on his cheeks and looks away.

“Even Giacometti is still out partying,” Yakov says, drawing up next to him. He looks out over the city, still sparkling with life even so late at night. “I ran into his coach on the way up here. I was surprised when he said you hadn’t joined them.”

“Hm.”

“You’re a five-time world champion,” Yakov reminds him. “The exhibition and the gala tomorrow are going to be full of well-wishers and sponsors. You’ll have to liven up for that.”

Viktor nods. He’s already well aware of this. He glances at his coach to see that Yakov is peering very closely at him, expression unreadable.

Viktor swallows. This is the most that Yakov has talked to him about something other than skating technique in months.

Yakov clears his throat. “But…”

Viktor waits as his coach gathers his thoughts, but he can feel a sickening sense of dread in his gut.

“I… suppose I haven’t been fair to you.”

That’s unexpected. Viktor blinks as Yakov pushes his hat more firmly down on his head after the wind nearly plucks it off.

“Yakov,” Viktor says after a moment of uncomfortable silence. “What happened?”

“I talked to my ex-wife,” Yakov admitted. “I’m planning on having her work on Yura, for his senior debut.”

“Mm.” That makes sense.

“She… she said something that I hadn’t previously thought of.” Yakov shoves his hands into his coat pockets, shuddering as another cold blast of air hits the rooftop. “About why our marriage ended.”

“Ah.”

“Vitya, I look at you and I see a younger version of myself.” Yakov fixes him with a direct look that makes Viktor feel like he’s being x-rayed. “And I realized two things tonight. One, there comes a point where constantly doing even something you love can become torture. And two, it’s probably more advantageous to retire after a successful season of golds than to allow lackluster performances and possible injuries to end a career.”

Viktor blinks. “What…?”

“You will have to work things out with your sponsors but…” Yakov’s gaze doesn’t waver as he breathes deeply and says, “Vitya, if you feel it is your time to retire, I don’t have the right to force you to keep going.”

Suddenly, Viktor’s vision wavers. He realizes he’s tearing up. “Really?” he gasps, his breath hitching.

“Vitya, it has been an honor to coach you all these years,” Yakov manages to get out before Viktor throws his arms around the old man and buries his face in Yakov’s shoulder. “Damn it all, boy,” Yakov says, and Viktor can feel him gently patting his back. “You are a dramatic fool.”

“Thank you,” Viktor whispers, his voice muffled by Yakov’s coat. “ _Thank you._ ”

Yakov is silent, but Viktor knows there’s nothing more to say.

 

He tells Chris about his retirement, as they prepare their exhibition skates, and Chris flinches away from him with an expression akin to betrayal.

“Retire?” he repeats, eyes wide. “Why?”

“Don’t you think it’s time?” Viktor asks as he laces up. He glances at his friend and frowns. “Chris, what’s wrong? I would think you would be happy at this.”

“What, that you’re abdicating your throne to me?” Chris laughs harshly. “Don’t be so presumptuous, Viktor. There’s new talent cropping up every day.”

“Well, at least be happy for me, then,” Viktor says, and his tone makes Chris blink. “I… I think if I tried to skate another season, I would… lose my mind.”

Chris is silent as they finish their preparations. They enter the arena, and Chris catches Viktor’s arm. “I’m happy that you’re pursuing your own happiness,” Chris finally tells him. “I’m sorry I’ll never have a chance to beat you in competition, but I’m happy for you.”

Viktor smiles at him, and grasps Chris’s wrist. “That means the world to me.”

 

Later on that night, he causes an uproar with his announcement of retirement. He holds no illusions that the news will stay within the walls of the banquet, and a glance at his phone confirms that other attendees have already reported it to Twitter just to start.

“You can’t do anything quietly,” Chris laughs, showing him the trending tags. “Knowing the skating world, this will still be the topic of discussion come next season.”

Viktor shrugs. There’s more to life, he knows. “Then I’ll have to find a new way to surprise the world.”

“You’re talking about a new star,” Chris guesses. “You plan to foster some promising talent? Get them talking about a new skater?”

“That will be a worthwhile project,” Viktor agrees. He takes a sip of his champagne. “And to be honest? I’m looking forward to the challenge. But first, I’ve got some traveling to do.”

“Traveling?” Chris raises his eyebrows. “To where?”

“Kyushu.” Viktor cuts off Chris’s response with a look. “I just want to pay my respects. That’s all.”

Chris ponders it but ultimately sighs and waves a hand at him. “I’ve got no right to tell you not to. Have fun down there, I hear the hot springs are divine.”

“I’ll definitely do that for sure,” Viktor says.

_My family runs a hot spring resort!_

_After the season ends…_

 

 

 

 

Viktor receives notice from customs that both dogs are cleared for travel to Japan about a week after Worlds. He already has an itinerary figured out, and all that’s left to do is make reservations and purchase his plane ticket that night.

He’s excited, for the first time in a long time. He sets a countdown to his departure, and starts preparing. Packing is easy, and he picks up his refilled prescriptions while he’s out wrapping up other business.

The next day, as he’s heading into the airport and bundling the dogs - Yukkachin in his Thundershirt - into the carriers, he remembers that Yakov will probably want a heads up. He texts Yakov from the airport; he doesn’t receive a response before he boards and has to put his phone into airplane mode, so he assumes Yakov is busy coaching.

The flight is fourteen hours, straight to Fukuoka via Korean Air. It’s the only flight without any stops, and it’s definitely pricey enough that Viktor probably won’t be traveling for fun for a while.

During the flight, Viktor pops one of the sleeping pills in an attempt to reset his body clock. He can feel an energy thrumming through his skin, like he’s anticipating something exciting. It’s his first vacation in years, he reasons. Of course he’s excited.

He wakes a few hours before landing and has the pleasure of witnessing the sun rise over the ocean. There’s not much to do except make a quick trip to the restroom and then resettle in his seat with his tablet and a book he’d downloaded in the airport. It’s a science fiction novel that Chris had repeatedly told him about a couple years ago, and he’s secretly been looking forward to reading it. He’s several chapters into the adventure of an American astronaut left on Mars when the landing announcement rings out in several languages, and he has to power down the tablet and stuff it back in his bag.

It’s a relief to be on terra firma again, and he takes his phone off airplane mode as he waits for his luggage and for the dog carriers to be brought out. He’d wanted to keep both dogs with him in the cabin, but that had proven next to impossible. He still breathes a sigh of relief when he’s reunited with his poodles in customs, taking both of them out of their carriers, leashing Yukkachin, and walking them outside the airport so they can relieve themselves and walk off the sleeping medicine that the vet had given Viktor to use for the flight. Makkachin bounces back relatively quickly, but Yukkachin is apprehensive and nervous even with the Thundershirt on. Viktor keeps him in the comfort vest as he resettles the dogs in their crates and loads them into the rented van he secures for the drive to Hasetsu.

It takes a few tries, but Viktor manages to get the address of the Katsuki family business off of the internet. The driver speaks relatively good English, enough that Viktor can hold an easy - if segmented - conversation with the man over the hour-long drive to the small seaside town.

“Next time, take trains,” Viktor’s driver tells him. “Maybe no dogs, but fast. Very fast, you know?”

“Yes, I’ve heard,” Viktor agrees. “I would love to.”

“Why dogs?”

Viktor blinks. “Why do I have dogs? I like them, I guess.”

“No, why bring dogs?” The driver jerks a thumb at the backseat, where Yukkachin’s cage is carefully wedged between Viktor’s suitcase and the door. “Why not stay at home?”

“I’m always away from them,” Viktor answers, laughing. “I miss them too much to leave them.”

“But expensive, yes? Has to be.”

Viktor shrugs. “I don’t mind.”

The driver laughs and gives him a look that says “all right, then,” and Viktor is distracted by the sudden vibration of his phone in his jacket pocket. Outside, snow begins to swirl past the windows; the sky is blanketed in steel-colored clouds.

“It’s kind of late for snow, isn’t it?” Viktor asks as he swipes his phone open.

The driver laughs again. “Yes, very strange. Beautiful sakura season, if not for snow. You will see, soon.”

“Hopefully!” Viktor says, opening the message from Yura. It reads _you’d better be ready to work on my senior debut when you get back._

Viktor responds _of course_ and puts his phone in Do Not Disturb mode before slipping it back into his pocket.

 

When the van pulls up to Yu-topia, Viktor is a bit surprised to see something of a welcoming party. Well, more like a crowd of confused greeters.

Now that he thinks of it, the family of a figure skater would probably notice if the five-time world champion made reservations for a month at their inn. He should have figured.

It takes one look for him to figure out that it is indeed Yuuri’s family. The resemblance is undeniable, down to the warmth of Mrs. Katsuki’s eyes and the lopsided smile that her husband gives him. A woman around his age introduces herself as Mari Katsuki, and her parents are Hiroko and Toshiya. She appears to have the best grasp on English, and takes it upon herself to greet him and make introductions.

“So you’re Viktor Nikiforov,” she says as they unpack the van, her parents chatting amicably with the driver. “My… my brother was a big fan of yours.”

Viktor swallows and fixes a hopefully realistic-looking smile on his face. “Oh, wow! What an honor!”

Mari gives him an unreadable look, but her face softens as soon as Viktor lets Yukkachin out of his crate. “Oh,” she says softly, crouching down next to the toy poodle. “Oh. He… he looks like Vicchan.”

Mrs. Katsuki makes a quiet wounded noise and drops to her knees, and to Viktor’s surprise, Yukkachin crawls right into her lap. She begins to cry, and Yukkachin presses against her, whining softly.

Makkachin, feeling left out, crowds the woman, who stammers something that Viktor figures to be an apology.

“So sorry,” Mr. Katsuki says, and Viktor glances up at him. He’s standing in the driveway with Viktor’s suitcase in hand, looking down at his wife, shoulders slumped. “We… it has been hard.”

Mari bites on her knuckles, clearly also fighting tears, and Viktor shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it,” he says quietly. “I understand.”

 

The hot springs are divine. Viktor wants to soak forever, even as the snow is still falling softly around him. It’s almost surreal, how lovely it is.

He really needed this.

Still, he’s all alone in the spring, with nothing to distract him from a mental playback of his arrival. _Shit._ He hadn’t thought about the reaction to his arrival at all. He certainly hadn’t been expecting making Yuuri’s family _cry_.

“We’re sorry,” Mari had told him as they’d dragged his luggage into the room they’d set up for him. “We… you know, it just sometimes hits us and…” She’d dug her hands in her two-toned hair and looked away. “It’s… sometimes it’s like he might walk in the front door again, but they keep telling us that it’s probably not going to happen.”

Viktor had nodded, his throat tight. “I’m so sorry,” he’d said softly, and she’d scrubbed at her eyes and disappeared down the hall, returning with a big fluffy dog bed.

“It was Vicchan’s,” she said, giving it to him. “We’ve washed it, so if your dogs want to use it then they can have it.”

“You have a dog?” Viktor had pressed, and Mari had shaken her head and pulled a pack of cigarettes from her apron pocket.

“Had. He died in December. During the Grand Prix Final, actually.”

 _Oh no._ “I’m so sorry,” he’d said again, and Mari had shaken her head.

“He was Yuuri’s, mostly.” She’d pulled out her phone and showed him the lockscreen, of a toy poodle that looked remarkably like Yukkachin, with much lighter fur. “We got him after Yuuri found out you had a poodle.”

 _Oh._ “That’s… wow.”

“He was such a huge fan,” Mari had said, shoving her phone back into her pocket. She’d looked a breath and a half away from breaking down in the hallway, so Viktor had let her escape after getting the rundown for the hot springs. The other members of the Katsuki family had made themselves scarce as he’d made his way down to the lockers. While he’d been waiting in the St. Petersburg airport, he’d looked up Japanese hot spring etiquette. Using what he’d read and watching others, he’s able to navigate the showers and sauna without too much trouble.

He’s left the dogs in his room, curled up on the big bed in the center of what Mari had admitted was usually a banquet room. He’s hoping that the poodles will rest for a bit while he soaks and gets something to eat, but Mari had already agreed to look after them if they ventured out of the living area of the inn.

Maybe, though. Maybe this isn’t such a good idea after all.

Yuuri’s family has been nothing but polite to him, but surely his presence is causing them all pain. Nothing like your missing-presumed-dead son’s idol showing up at the family business after making a reservation for a month.

Maybe he should cut his visit short, find another place to stay. Would that be rude? If it makes it easier for the Katsuki family, it would be the right thing to do.

Where are these dark thoughts coming from? Now that he thinks of it, though, Viktor realizes that he’s fucked up his medication schedule. He’ll have to grab it before eating. He doesn’t want to have a depressive spell while he’s here.

He soaks for a little while longer, letting the heat settle into his muscles and skin, wishing he could bundle the feeling up and press it into his chest where it could stay.

Eventually, though, his stomach grumbles hard enough that he figures it’s time to climb on out and search for some dinner. Airplane food and airport snacks just weren’t going to cut it today.

He rinses off and towels down, changing into the green robes that Mari had given him earlier, and heads back to his room to check on the dogs. Makkachin perks up right away, but Yukkachin seems sluggish. Viktor notes to himself to keep an eye on the smaller poodle, and decides to take off the Thundershirt and see if that helps perk him up a bit.

The dogs follow him down into the dining room, and Mrs. Katsuki meets him there. She’s a lot more composed, and tells him in careful English that she’ll bring him the inn’s specialty for dinner.

“Is it alright that I let them loose in here?” Viktor asks her, gesturing at his dogs.

Mrs. Katsuki frowns for a moment as she parses his question, and then shakes her head. “As long as there are no accidents,” she reassures him, patting his arm. “Sit, eat. Please.”

Makkachin wanders the dining room, giving her big puppy eyes to the other patrons who are watching a football match on the TV in the front of the room and sipping sake and beer. Viktor calls her back before she can beg for food.

Yukkachin, on the other hand, curls up under the table and looks at him sadly. Viktor pets the toy poodle until he relaxes and dozes off.

Mrs. Katsuki emerges from the kitchen with a fairly large bowl that’s still steaming. She sets it in front of Viktor and it smells _divine_.

Yukkachin rouses as Viktor begins to eat - it tastes even better than it smells - and stares longingly at the bowl as Mrs. Katsuki waits for Viktor’s reaction. He is overcome with flavor and can’t hold in a noise that sounds… _distressingly_ euphoric.

“Good?” Mari asks as she walks past with a tray of beers.

“This is the most delicious thing I have ever eaten in my entire life,” Viktor declares, which Mari translates for her mother.

Mrs. Katsuki smiles widely and pats Viktor’s shoulder. “I’m glad you like,” she says before making her way back into the kitchen. Again, somewhat to Viktor’s surprise, Yukkachin follows her.

“That’s the house special,” Mari informs him. “ _Katsudon_. Fried pork cutlet with egg and rice.”

Viktor hums at her, not wanting to speak while his mouth is full. Then he pauses.

“I’ve seen this before,” he says. He nods at the entrance hall, at the posters on the wall. They prominently feature Yuuri. “I’m sure you’re sick of it--”

“No, we did name it after him,” Mari admits. “It was his favorite.”

“It’s really good,” Viktor mumbles. “I can see why he loved it.”

Mari nods. “You want anything to drink? Beer? Sake?”

“Ah.” Viktor decides he doesn’t want to get buzzed or drunk on his first night. “I’d be okay with just water, thanks.”

She shrugs and takes her tray to the back, the glasses and bottles clinking as she walks.

Makkachin noses at Viktor’s dinner, and he pushes her away; she and Yukkachin had eaten before he’d gone into the hot spring, and he wants to think he’s immune to her puppydog eyes.

Mari returns with his water, and a few dog biscuits. She gives one to Makkachin, then looks around. “Where’s your other dog?”

“He followed your mother into the kitchen, probably begging for scraps.” Viktor frowns. “Don’t let him fool you, he gets fed enough. It’s weird though, he doesn’t beg often.”

Mari blinks. “I didn’t see him in the kitchen.”

Viktor swears in Russian and pushes his bowl away. “I’ll come back to that,” he says. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think he would run off away from me.”

“Don’t worry about it, we’re used to dogs,” Mari reassures him, but she allows Viktor to follow her into the back. Viktor whistles for Makkachin to follow so she doesn’t make her rounds to the other patrons again.

Yukkachin isn’t in the guest wing of the inn, and isn’t in the bathhouse either. Mari pauses, and then heads the way down a hallway that Viktor realizes leads to the family home.

He watches, feeling vaguely out-of-place, as Mari slides open a door to a room that’s lit by the dim fading daylight. She calls gently into the space, and Viktor’s eyes adjust.

It’s a shrine. Viktor’s never seen one personally before but he can tell that’s what it is.

The room is mostly empty, save for the wall opposite the doorway. There are a few closet-like spaces that Viktor can see things like wall scrolls and statuary displayed, but most prominent is the altar-like structure in the center of the wall. There’s a small table in front of it, and Mrs. Katsuki is kneeling on a small cushion before it. Yukkachin is sitting silently next to her, so still that it’s almost like he’s a statue.

Mari speaks again, and Mrs. Katsuki turns to answer.

“She says your dog has been perfectly behaving,” Mari tells Viktor. “And she doesn’t mind him following her around.”

“That’s good,” Viktor says. He feels like he’s intruding. “I’m going to go finish my dinner, then.”

Mari nods, but doesn’t move, so Viktor shepherds Makkachin back into the dining room.

 

-

 

Yuuri hadn’t really woken up since the day Viktor had come home crying and Yuuri had decided that it was okay to give into the strange disassociation that kept sweeping over him. So he’s surprised when suddenly he comes back to himself and he’s…

He’s _home_.

Vague flashes of being in a plane’s luggage compartment in a crate and being in the Fukuoka airport are all he can recall of the past day, but thinking back further is fruitless. All he can remember is being warm and loved and comfortable, which he honestly can’t say he minds. There are a few moments where he can recall being unhappy, but then something would happen to distract him, but he can’t remember specifics at all. Not until Viktor lets him out of the traveling crate in front of the onsen.

He wonders if something had occurred in between That Day and now, and he’s not even sure how long it’s been since Viktor took him home to St. Petersburg and gave him his new name. But even as confused as he is to be back in Hasetsu, albeit still as a dog, he can’t stop himself from pressing up against his mother as soon as he sees her. She’s crying. _Oh no._

“You look just like our Vicchan,” she says softly, taking him into her arms. It’s like he’s a little kid all over again. God, he’s _missed_ her.

“Hiroko, let’s go inside,” his father says, and his voice is so tired and flat. Like all of the cheer Yuuri remembers has been sucked out of him. “Mari can show Nikiforov-san to his room.”

 _What’s going on?_ Yuuri wonders as his mom gently puts him back onto the ground and gets to her feet. Viktor calls to him, and he hesitates to follow him in. Makkachin is excitedly investigating the entrance to the onsen, and his parents are helping bring the empty carriers inside, but Yuuri can’t seem to move as the driver of the rental van pulls away from the driveway and disappears down the road.

“Yukkachin?” Viktor says, concern evident in his voice. He says something that Yuuri figures to mean “come here” in Russian, and Yuuri obeys after another moment’s hesitation. He feels strangely calm, and also senses that there’s something wrapped around his chest. Once Mari settles Viktor in the old banquet room, Yuuri gets a look at himself in a mirror and blinks. _Am I wearing one of those comfort vests?_ Weird. It seems to be working. In fact, he can’t seem to work himself into an anxiety attack.

 _If only these things worked for the human-me,_ he thinks ruefully. He’s still a little woozy for some reason, and decides that he’s within his rights to take a nap in the middle of Viktor’s bed. Makkachin curls up around him, and he dozes on and off until Viktor comes back wearing one of the onsen’s _kannaigi_ , clearly having soaked in the springs. Yuuri’s vaguely envious, but he’s also glad that Viktor enjoyed himself. He seems looser, much happier. He watches as the world class skater digs around in his luggage for a pill bottle and takes one dry.

Viktor is talking to Makkachin and him, and Makkachin is wiggling excitedly by the door. She’s so energetic for an elderly dog. Viktor comes to stand next to the bed, hands planted on hips, looking down at Yuuri like he’s a puzzle to figure out. He scratches Yuuri behind his ears and then there’s the soft sound of velcro ripping apart, and Viktor tosses the comfort vest onto the pillow and fluffs Yuuri’s fleece.

The difference is immediate. It must have been some kind of pressure point therapy, because suddenly the manic energy that Yuuri hadn’t really missed before comes rushing back.

Viktor smiles at him and cocks his head at the door. Yuuri can smell food cooking. Even though he’d eaten before settling down for his pseudo-nap, the familiar smells make his mouth water.

It’s almost dreamlike, walking into the dining room of his family business. He never thought he’d ever see it again. There are a couple locals hanging out by the TV, watching a soccer game, and Makkachin decides to go off and explore the new room. Other than that, it’s empty.

It’s like Hasetsu is slowly drying up. The thought is sobering, and Yuuri finds himself curling up under Viktor’s table as they settle near the back of the room. Viktor immediately seems to sense his mood and begins to pet him comfortingly, which lulls Yuuri into a relaxed half-awake state.

It’s not until his mother emerges from the kitchen carrying a bowl of katsudon that Yuuri rouses again. Now the envy is palpable as Viktor cheerfully digs into the meal that Yuuri had been dreaming of on-and-off for _years_. Nothing in the world could beat his mom’s homemade katsudon. _Nothing_. He’s so close, he can practically taste it.

Viktor compliments his mother’s cooking, which Mari translates, and his mother beams. She lingers for a moment longer before heading back into the kitchen, and Yuuri immediately is compelled to follow her.

“Ah,” she says as she notices him. “Hello, Yukkachin! Are you sure you should be leaving your owner?”

 _Mom, it’s me,_ he thinks despairingly, and it must show in his body language because she stoops down to pet him softly.

“It’s all right if you follow me,” she says, and her expression is one of both pain and something much gentler. Almost loving. “It’s almost like having Vicchan around again. I’m sorry if I keep comparing you to him.”

 _Vicchan_. Yuuri wants to cry.

“I wonder if Nikiforov-san would be okay with meeting Minako-senpai?” his mother wonders as she straightens up and moves to wash dishes. “And the Nishigori family, too? I’m sure they would be excited to meet him. I’ll have to have Mari-chan ask. That would be nice, hm? I wonder if Yuuri-chan got to meet him before…?”

Her hands pause in the sudsy water. There’s a long, cold silence, and Yuuri can’t stop himself from making a sad noise that his mother somewhat echoes, burying her face in her dish towel.

“I’m sorry,” she says, turning on her heel and disappearing into the family’s living area. Yuuri immediately follows, his heart breaking with every step.

She ends up at the family shrine, and it feels like Yuuri’s heart is being clawed from his chest as she kneels in front and curls in on herself.

He can see his own photo, next to a picture of him as a kid, smiling as he cuddled Vicchan. The first photo is one lovingly clipped from a magazine, of him from the previous skating season. He recognizes the costume. He wants to howl, seeing this shrine to his memory.

His family is mourning him, even still. It has to be after the skating season, because Viktor wouldn’t be on vacation while still competing. It’s been months and they’re still mourning him.

His mother is speaking softly to the photo, now. “Ah, Yuuri-chan, you wouldn’t believe who arrived today to stay with us! It really was Viktor Nikiforov who made that reservation after all, he’s so handsome in person. And so polite, too! And he has lovely dogs, you would have loved his dogs. So much like Vicchan. Oh! And he loved your katsudon, too! I wasn’t sure if he would, but Mari says he told her it’s the best food he’s ever eaten. I’m so happy he came, to be honest,” she falls silent for a moment, and Yuuri is frozen next to her. She takes a shuddering breath. “I hope you got to meet him, in Sochi,” she adds, her voice wavering. “We’ll take good care of him for you. I promise, Yuu-chan. I miss you so much.”

She falls silent, and Yuuri wonders if this is what it feels like to be a ghost in his own home.

He’s not sure how much time has passed when Mari steps into the room and asks, “Mom? Are you all right?”

“Ah, yes,” their mother answers, wiping her face.

“We were just wondering where Viktor’s other dog went, is he behaving?”

Their mother laughs. “He’s been a perfect angel. Don’t worry, I like having him with me.”

“Okay,” Mari says, and turns to speak to someone behind her in the hallway. From the sound of the responding voice, it’s Viktor.

There’s a soft shuffling noise, and then Mari steps back into the room and stands in silence for a long moment before drawing her pack of cigarettes from her apron and removing one to light. She takes a long drag and breathes out, a smooth ribbon of smoke snaking into the air. “Are you going to be okay while he stays here?” she finally asks.

Their mother nods, putting on a weak smile. “He’s our guest, and Yuuri would want us to make his time here as enjoyable as possible.” She bites her lip, and then looks up at Mari. “Do you think you can ask Nikiforov-san if it would be all right to introduce him to Minako-senpai and the Nishigori family?”

Mari nods. “If he says no, though…”

“Yes, it’s his vacation. Of course we’ll respect his wishes.”

Mari takes another drag from her cigarette, then sighs and ducks back into the hallway.

Yuuri looks back at the shrine, at the pictures and the incense, and wonders if he’ll be able to survive inevitably leaving home once more.

 

Viktor evidently consents to meeting Minako and the Nishigoris, because they all show up within an hour. They’re all starstruck and awed, but not as energetic as Yuuri would have expected them to be.

It’s one of the triplets - Lutz - that notices him off to the side and calls her sisters’ attention to him, and they mob him, making delighted noises.

“You’ve got a toy poodle too!” Axel squeals, and Yuuri is suddenly overwhelmed by three pairs of hands petting and scratching and rubbing. He ends up flattened to the floor, halfway to panicking, and is grateful when someone much taller than the triplets rescues him.

It’s Yuuko, and her eyes are shining. “He looks just like Yuuri’s old dog,” she says, and Takeshi draws up next to her.

“Yeah,” he agrees, and they share a somber look.

 _I’ve hurt everyone,_ Yuuri thinks, shrinking a little in Yuuko’s hold.

“Should he be shaking so much?” Takeshi wonders, a little louder and in English, and Viktor looks up from his conversation with Minako.

“Oh, the vet says he might have a little case of anxiety,” Viktor says, rising. “I have a Thundershirt for him in my room.”

“Anxiety, huh?” Minako asks, tracing the lip of her glass. “Sounds familiar.”

Viktor looks confused, but he pats Yuuri on the head and excuses himself to go grab the Thundershirt.

Minako makes an odd noise and tosses back her glass of whatever Mari poured her. Most likely something alcoholic. “This… doesn’t feel right,” she says. She’s staring straight ahead, twirling the glass in her fingers.

“Minako-senpai,” Yuuri’s mom says. “Please don’t drink too much tonight.”

“Mm.”

When Viktor returns, Yuuko puts Yuuri down so they can resettle him in the comfort vest. Yuuko actually coos at him, which would be embarrassing if Yuuri could work up the energy to be embarrassed. It’s weird, like the nervousness has been dulled enough that Yuuri can ignore it.

“So _cute_ ,” Yuuko and her daughters sigh, and Yuuri sits through a few more minutes of petting before he escapes to hide under Viktor’s table. Makkachin is more than happy to be the center of attention, and the triplets oblige her in belly rubs and snuggles as the adults chat.

“So how did you find out about our little town?” Minako asks, and Yuuri can hear the clinking of her glass on the table above him.

“Ah, Yuuri mentioned it to me!” Viktor answers. “At the Grand Prix Finale banquet.”

Yuuri can’t stop his head from popping up in surprise so fast that he literally bonks his head on the underside of the table. Minako makes a sympathetic noise and pets his head. He doesn’t notice, his mind is too busy whirring.

He talked to Viktor at the banquet? Why doesn’t he remember it? Even piss-drunk, he’s sure he’d remember talking to Viktor Nikiforov.

“He started dancing,” Viktor was saying. “I’ve never seen someone move with so much energy. And he was so coordinated, after maybe fifteen glasses of champagne that is quite a feat!”

“Ah! Ha! Toshiya!” Minako hollers. “Yuuri takes after you!”

Everyone falls silent, and Yuuri isn’t sure if he wants to die of embarrassment or something much more painful.

“He… he was wonderful,” Viktor finally says. “Lively and wonderful. A breath of fresh air. And he told me that his family owned a hot spring resort, and that I should come here after the season ended.” He laughs, a short noise that sounds forced. “I am so glad I did,” he adds honestly. “I haven’t even been here a day and I don’t want to leave.”

“You might change your mind after a bit,” Takeshi says, shifting. “It feels like more and more people are leaving Hasetsu every day.”

“That’s such a shame,” Viktor muses. “This town is beautiful and peaceful. There needs to be more of that in the world.”

“Aw, that’s wonderful,” Yuuko breathes. “One of the nicest things I’ve ever heard about our town.”

Takeshi sniggers, and Yuuko nudges him.

“So,” Minako says. “What are you going to do now that you’re all done with skating?”

“Viktor! Viktor!” one of the girls calls from the huddle around Makkachin. “Why did you retire, Viktor?”

_Retire?!_

It seems that the surprises would not stop coming this evening. Yuuri can feel the world tilting around him, shifting on its axis. Viktor Nikiforov, retired? What was going on?!

“I… I think it’s my time,” Viktor says carefully. His fingers thread through Yuuri’s fur, and Yuuri can almost taste the anxiety rolling off of him. “I figured that five World Championship golds was a nice legacy, and I’m not getting any younger. It’s a wonder I wasn’t forced to retire by injury, to be honest.” His other hand is twisted tightly in his robe’s hem. “And now, I think I’ll try out the other end of things. Yuuri inspired me. He had a lot of potential. I… I want to see if I could bring that out in others.”

Yuuri’s head is spinning. It’s everything he ever dreamed of. And here he is, as Viktor’s _dog_ , hearing his personal hero talking about how Yuuri inspired him.

“So you want to try coaching?” Minako asks.

“I don’t know if I would make a good coach,” Viktor admits. “But maybe one day.”

“I think whoever manages to get you as a coach will be very lucky,” Yuuko tells him earnestly.

Viktor laughs, and Yuuri can’t tell if it’s a real one or not.

“If you want to come to our rink, we’re usually free! It’s up the hill, feel free to stop by anytime,” Yuuko adds.

“I will, thank you.”

“Viktor Nikiforov is coming to Ice Castle?!” one of the triplets shrieks, and they mob Viktor excitedly. The laugh he lets out is genuine this time, and it takes some yelling from the girls’ parents before order is restored.

 

Minako and the Nishigoris stay fairly late into the night, and the girls actually fall asleep on the floor, slumped on Makkachin. Minako gets pretty drunk and ends up crying on Viktor, mostly in Japanese, so Viktor doesn’t get to hear about how he’s the reason Yuuri even skated at all, and how his bedroom walls are plastered with his posters, and how Yuuri named his dog after him.

In the end, Yuuko and Takeshi have to pick up their girls and carry them home, and Mari is enlisted to help Minako get back to her apartment. The lights are dimmed, and Viktor retires to his room with Yuuri and Makkachin.

“Good night, Viktor,” Yuuri’s mother tells him as he leaves, and Viktor thanks her.

Once in bed, Viktor falls asleep fairly quickly. He’d taken the comfort vest off of Yuuri before sliding under the covers, and Makkachin is draped across his chest, but Yuuri had flopped down at the foot of the bed and can’t stop thinking about everything he’d heard.

For the first time in ages (as far as he knows, and it’s driving him crazy that he can’t be sure of how long it’s been since the GPF) he wishes he could become human again. He’d thought, in St. Petersburg, that he could bear to live out his life this way… but now, having been faced with his loved ones and seeing what he would be leaving behind…

The pain he’s feeling can’t be real, but it feels like his chest is being cracked open. If he could, he would be crying.

 _This is my place,_ he tells himself. _I’ve accepted it. I can live with this. I can._

But can he?

He closes his eyes and tries to block out the image of his mother’s teary eyes as she knelt at the shrine downstairs.

_I wish…_

 

-

 

Viktor wakes with a start and fumbles for his phone, confused for a moment before he remembers where he is. He checks the time.

3:24 A.M.

Viktor sighs and flops back down onto his pillow, rubbing Makkachin’s soft ears. The older poodle blinks one eye open at him, and then snuggles into his chest.

Viktor pats the sheets around him, searching for Yukkachin, but doesn’t find the smaller dog. He frowns and sits up, and realizes that other than Makkachin and himself, the bed is empty.

“Yukkachin?” he says, to no response.

It’s then that he realizes his door has been cracked open.

He practically jumps out of bed, yanks on a pair of sleep pants, and slides the door all the way open. Makkachin makes a sleepy noise at him as Viktor yanks the charging cord out of his phone and flicks on the flashlight. He checks under the bed and in all the corners of his room, but Yukkachin isn’t there. “Oh no,” he mutters, and heads into the hallway.

He tries to be quiet as he searches the inn for the toy poodle, but as the minutes stretch into half an hour of fruitless searching, he becomes more frantic. Eventually, Mari stumbles into the dining room and blinks at him in confusion.

“Is everything all right?” she asks, scrubbing at her messy hair.

“I can’t find Yukkachin,” he says, fighting to keep the worry out of his voice. “He got the door to my room open and I don’t know where he went.”

Mari snaps awake almost instantly and disappears into the kitchen. She emerges with an emergency flashlight, her face drawn. “He’s not in here. I’ll check the house.”

They split up, and Viktor doesn’t bother checking inside rooms with closed doors. He stumbles across one near his own that has been cracked as well, and he slides it open and peers inside. He blinks in surprise when the first thing he sees is his own face.

It has to be Yuuri’s childhood bedroom. It’s utterly plastered with posters of Viktor throughout his skating career. It seems to be almost untouched. Another silent shrine, to the missing member of the Katsuki family.

Viktor feels his heart in his throat, and tears his eyes away from child-Yuuri’s tribute wall to his idol, sweeping his phone flashlight around the ground and under the bed.

Yukkachin isn’t in there. Viktor backs out and shuts the door behind him.

By now, the elder Katsukis are awake and have joined the search. Mrs. Katsuki pats his arm and gives him a reassuring look, and they both flick on lights throughout the building and search it from top to bottom as Mari ventures into the courtyard.

“I didn’t find him in the springs,” Mari tells him. “But we’ll keep looking.”

Viktor thanks her even as the panic begins to build in his chest. He slips into a coat and shoes to join her, and finds her by the front gate.

“Shit,” she says as he draws closer to her. “There are tracks leading out the front gate.”

Viktor’s heart flies into his throat. “Oh no.”

 

-

 

Yuuri wakes up, and he can’t remember how he got here.

He blinks and looks around him, and slowly begins to recognize his surroundings.

Hasetsu has a shinto temple, nestled in the woods a few miles from the onsen. He hasn’t been there in a long, long time. Yet, somehow, he managed to sleepwalk here.

He stares up at the torii, and shivers. It’s still snowing out, and his paws are freezing. He decides to go into the temple to get out of the cold, at least until the sun comes up. Hopefully no one will chase him out. He’s able to duck into a snow-free pocket right under the entryway to the main hall.

He wonders if he should go through with cleansing, but the soft sound of footsteps distracts him. He whirls around and backs against the wall, trying to make himself smaller, but a soft gasp alerts him to being found out.

“Hello, there,” says the young woman who’s found him. A miko, by her clothes. She squats down next to him, and he’s drawn in by her clear, violet eyes. “You seem out of sorts. Who are you, really?”

He blinks.

“Are you a spirit?” she asks. She frowns. “No, you aren’t _kami_. Where did you come from?”

He’s not sure why she’s bothering to ask him. It’s not like he can respond.

“You’re in the wrong body,” she says, matter-of-factly. “Are you stuck? Can you change back?”

 _No,_ Yuuri thinks bitterly. _But I want to._

“Ah!” The miko claps. “You’re human! I see! Oh, someone cursed you. How awful, it looks like whoever it was didn’t think it through.” She peers at him, her eyebrows drawing together. “But it’s out of their hands, I think.”

_What?_

“Well,” the miko says. “The person who cursed you didn’t really do a good job. It can be broken.”

Yuuri feels the flicker of hope in his chest, and he doesn’t dare let it grow.

“Do you want to break it?” she asks.

He thinks about it. _I can’t leave Viktor alone_ is his first thought, but then he wonders if maybe the situation has changed. He wishes he could remember the time before he arrived in Hasetsu with Viktor and Makkachin, but Viktor seems to be happier. And…

Would he have to leave Viktor alone, if he were human?

He thinks back to Viktor’s words from earlier, about how Yuuri had inspired him, how he had made Viktor happy that night of the banquet. He wonders if it’s possible for him to have what he has with Viktor now, but as _himself_. As _Yuuri_.

He wants it. He wants it so _badly_.

“‘Know your place,’” the miko says softly. “Do you? Do you know your place?”

He thought his place was like this, at Viktor’s side. But…

But maybe his place is at Viktor’s side, on the ice.

He wants to skate again. He wants to be with his family, and his friends. And he wants to go to Viktor once more, and…

_Be my coach, Viktor!_

“I think you do,” the miko smiles.

Everything goes black.

 

-

 

They’ve been searching for hours, and Viktor is starting to lose hope that they’ll find the little dog. The snow is starting to fall again, and he can see his breath in front of his face. Mrs. Katsuki ushers him inside, telling him to warm up for a moment, and she gives him a cup of tea to heat up his hands.

Viktor sits in the front hall, sipping at the tea, as she returns outside. He can hear Mari and Mr. Katsuki calling Yukkachin’s name. A few of the neighbors have joined in on the search, as well. He feels bad that he’s interrupting the peaceful night.

Suddenly, a cry rings out through the courtyard, and Viktor puts down his tea and runs outside to see what’s causing the ruckus. He skids to a halt and stares in utter shock.

Yuuri Katsuki has come home.

 

-

 

He finds himself trudging along the streets of his hometown, and he can’t remember coming home. _Wasn’t I in Sochi? How did I get here? Where’s Celestino?_

He’s cold, and he realizes he doesn’t have his jacket. He’s still in his suit, from the banquet.

_I was just at the banquet._

But he’s here, maybe it’s a dream? He can’t tell, he’s so sleepy. So tired. Like he’s run a marathon. Everything feels surreal. Maybe it is a dream after all.

He sees his childhood home a few blocks away, hears voices calling out into the quiet of the night. His feet seem to have been moving of their own accord, and like a magnet pointing north, his body is drawn home.

He rounds the driveway and frowns as the front door slides open and his mother steps out, wrapped in a winter coat. She carefully steps out from under the doorway and makes to head out into the yard, but she catches sight of him and stops cold.

“Yuuri-chan?” she asks, as if she can’t believe it’s him.

“I’m home,” he answers, because what else is there to say?

His mother shrieks and runs forward, and throws her arms around him. “You-- you-- my baby boy--” she sobs, burying her face in his chest. “My son, my little boy--!”

“ _Kaasan_ ,” he says, his arms automatically coming up to support her. “How am I here? I was in Sochi, wasn’t I?”

His mother doesn’t answer, just holds him tighter.

“Oh my god,” he hears, and he turns his head to see Mari coming around the building. “Oh my god… _oh my god, Yuuri!_ ” And then she’s running, slipping and catching herself, and she’s there with him and their mother, and she’s holding onto him too. “Where have you been?” she demands, staring at him. “ _Where have you been?_ ”

And he doesn’t know, so he doesn’t answer. He just blinks. “Why are you crying?”

“Yuuri?” his father’s voice asks, and then he’s there and he’s joining in on the embrace. “Oh, _kami-sama_ , Yuuri. Oh, thank god, thank you--”

Something is wrong, very wrong. Why is everyone so emotional? What happened?

“We thought you were dead,” Mari scolds him, but her face is streaked with tears. “We thought-- _we thought--_ ”

“But I’m not,” Yuuri says, confused. “Why would you--?”

“It’s cold,” his mother says. “Come, come inside, it’s cold and you don’t have a coat.” She pulls back, but keeps her hand on his arm and tugs him indoors.

He blinks, still dazed, and follows without protest. And then he looks at the doorway to the onsen and blinks again. Because this is definitely a dream, why else would Viktor Nikiforov be standing in the front entry to his family’s inn. “Viktor?”

“Yuuri,” the champion skater breathes, like he can’t believe his eyes. “How?”

And Yuuri doesn’t know, so he says nothing.

 

-

 

It’s unreal.

Viktor watches the other skater across the table as he sits, seemingly dazed, and stares off into thin air. Every now and then he seems to remember to take a sip of the tea his mother had given him, but for the most part Yuuri seems almost catatonic.

The Japanese man looks up suddenly and catches Viktor’s gaze, and Viktor is struck with how familiar his eyes are.

Almost as if he’s looked into them every day.

Yuuri smiles vaguely, and ducks his face, looking away. He doesn’t say anything, so it’s up to Viktor to break the silence.

“Where did you go?” he asks.

Yuuri hums, and it feels uncomfortably familiar.

“Yuuri?” Viktor prompts.

“Don’t…” the other skater’s eyes flutter shut for a moment, and he seems to shake himself out of it. “Hm. Dunno.”

Makkachin presses up against Yuuri, huffing at him, and Yuuri absently pets the poodle.

It had been a strange rest of the night at Yu-topia, as the Katsuki family had recovered from the sudden shock of their missing son returning out of nowhere. After leading Yuuri to his old room and bundling him into his old bed, Mrs. Katsuki had tearfully apologized to Viktor about abandoning the search for Yukkachin. He had shaken his head and told her, and then told Mari, that taking care of Yuuri was more important and that they shouldn’t worry about him.

Strangely, he doesn’t feel as frightened about Yukkachin’s whereabouts. It’s like a dream he’s struggling to remember, like a word on the tip of his tongue. He can’t explain the feeling, but it’s like… a forgone conclusion.

Almost as if in order to keep Yuuri, he has to let Yukkachin go.

Mari hadn’t forgotten, though, and had offered to make Lost Dog posters to put up around town. Viktor had given her his best photos of the toy poodle and she’d headed off to the post office to print off copies that she’d thrown together on her laptop. Viktor is thinking of getting her a gift in thanks.

The clouds have cleared away, and sunlight is streaming in through the windows. It’s a lovely, warm morning, even if everyone is running on less sleep than usual.

Around eight in the morning, the police show up and take Yuuri into a private room for several hours. Viktor takes Makkachin out walking through the nearby area, and sees that Mari has managed to put up some of the Lost Dog posters nearby.

He returns to the inn and settles back down at ‘his’ table, and is sipping at soup to warm himself up when the policemen emerge from the impromptu interview room. Yuuri seems even more dazed than before; his mother settles him down at the table and disappears into the kitchen, emerging with bowls of rice and vegetables. Yuuri thanks her, and begins to steadily demolish the food as Viktor watches.

“My mother is an amazing cook,” Yuuri informs him solemnly, and Viktor finds himself cracking a smile.

“She is,” Viktor agrees. “She cooked me your katsudon last night.”

“Oohhh, katsudon,” Yuuri moans, laying his head down on the table. “I haven’t had her katsudon in years. I missed it.”

“Privileges of home,” Viktor muses.

“I guess I shouldn’t have any, though,” Yuuri mutters. “I only get katsudon when I win competitions, and I flunked the Grand Prix Finale.”

Viktor raises his eyebrows. “Interesting reward system.”

“Hm.” Yuuri gazes dreamily at him. “You’re really here in my home. Viktor Nikiforov.” He blinks slowly. “Why are you here?”

“You asked me to come, remember?”

Yuuri frowns adorably. “No?” He scrunches his nose, and Viktor has to cover his mouth with his hand to keep the laugh bubbling up through his chest from escaping. “The police were asking me that too. If I remember, but I don’t,” Yuuri whined.

“You really don’t remember the last almost four months?” Viktor asks, incredulous.

Yuuri stares at him. “Four months?”

“It’s April.”

“Nooooo, it’s December I thought? It’s snowing, why is it snowing?” Yuuri’s eyes drift to half mast. His breathing steadies and his eyes shut all the way very quickly after that.

“Oh no,” Mrs. Katsuki says as she comes back in with another tray of food. “Sleeping again?”

Viktor nods, and Mrs. Katsuki smiles fondly before disappearing into the living area.

Viktor watches the Japanese skater sleep, and after a few minutes Mrs. Katsuki reappears with a soft-looking blanket, which she drapes over her son. She brushes his hair back and kisses his forehead before picking up his empty bowls and taking them back into the kitchen.

Viktor tears his gaze away from the man that has haunted his dreams for the past three months and reclines back onto the floor, Makkachin flopping against him. The room is so peaceful, and he feels himself relaxing as the world carries on around him.

 

-

 

Yuuri is roused from his nap several hours later when Minako comes tearing into the dining room like a rampaging elephant. She falls to her knees as he scrubs his eyes, blinking blearily at her.

“Minako-senpai?” he asks, and starts in surprise when she leaps forward and squeezes the breath right out of him.

“You little brat,” she cries. “You… you’re really home!”

“Yeah,” Yuuri squeaks, stiffening in her arms.

“You were gone,” she insists, and she’s got dark circles under her eyes. Like she was up drinking the previous night.

“I’m sorry.”

“Where were you?!” she demands, catching his cheeks in her palms and hold his face so he can’t turn away.

“I don’t know,” Yuuri admits. “Sochi? I remember being in Sochi, and then all of the sudden I was walking home.”

Minako blinks, her eyes still shining with unshed tears. “But… how?”

“I don’t know,” Yuuri says again. “I really don’t.”

“Were you spirited away or something?”

“Sure looks like it,” Yuuri’s dad says as he shuffles by, wearing the biggest grin Yuuri’s ever seen on him. “Maybe it was Russian _kami_ or something.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Toshiya!” Minako snaps, but she draws Yuuri back into another hug, which he returns. It’s so strange, but he feels strangely affectionate towards everyone.

“I can’t believe you’re back,” Minako says softly. “You little dork. Don’t ever scare us like that ever again.”

“I’ll try not to,” Yuuri answers.

 

The Nishigori family shows up shortly after Minako, and Yuuko straight up bursts into tears upon seeing Yuuri sitting in the dining room. However, it’s her daughters that mob him first, and they all clamor for his attention. Yuuko shoos the triplets away so she can hug Yuuri as well, and to Yuuri’s surprise Takeshi joins in as well.

“Where the hell have you been?” Takeshi demands, but he looks a few breaths away from crying as well. “All these months? Dammit, Yuuri!”

“I don’t know,” Yuuri repeats himself, and it seems that’s going to be the question of the day. “I just remember being in Sochi and then all of the sudden, I was here.”

“Maybe it was time travel,” Lutz suggests.

“Aliens?” Loop wonders.

“That’s so stupid!” Axel tells her sister. The three of them devolve into bickering, but their mother puts a stop to it very quickly before it can escalate into shouting.

“The police were here most of the morning,” Mari informs the assembly. “I think this case has them completely baffled.”

Yuuri shrugs, blushing. “I don’t know what else to tell you all.”

“It’s all right,” Yuuko says immediately, smiling brightly. “All that matters is that you’re home.”

And yeah, he _is_ home.

But something feels like it’s missing.

“Where’s Viktor?” Loop asks, tugging at Yuuri’s sleeve.

“Ah, he’s in the onsen,” Yuuri’s mom answers, bustling past with linens. “Said he wanted to give us our space.”

“Tell him it’s a party and he’s invited!” Minako whoops, pumping a fist. The triplets cheer, and Yuuri can hear his dad echoing them from the front hall.

 

Viktor returns, wearing sweats and pleasantly flushed, as the impromptu celebration is in full swing. Minako and Yuuri’s dad are halfway through their second bottle of sake and other patrons have joined in.

“Viktor!” Minako trills, catching the skater by the wrist and dragging him into the thick of it. “C’mon, join in! It’s your vacation, right?”

Viktor laughs and accepts the proffered glass and takes up the spot next to Yuuri, his body a warm stripe up Yuuri’s side. “What a welcome home party,” he says in Yuuri’s ear, and Yuuri has to agree.

Still, Yuuri has never been completely comfortable in crowds, and after an hour of celebration and shots and eating, he escapes out to the porch for a moment of peace.

“Yuuri?”

Yuuri blinks as Viktor pokes his head out through the door, then catches sight of him. “Is it okay if I join you?”

“Of course,” Yuuri says automatically.

Viktor sits down next to him, and surveys the courtyard. “It’s so strange,” he says aloud. “Snow, when it should be cherry blossom season.”

“I guess,” Yuuri agrees. He still can’t believe it’s April.

They sit in silence for a while, and Viktor keeps darting little glances at Yuuri, like he thinks Yuuri will disappear if he looks away. “You really don’t remember anything since the GPF?” he finally asks.

Yuuri shakes his head. “I wish I did, it’s so frustrating.” He buries his face in his hands. “I don’t know where any of my things are, I don’t even have my glasses.”

“I think Celestino Cialdini has them,” Viktor says. “Or else, maybe the Sochi police have them. I assume news of your return will probably be breaking soon.”

Yuuri laughs. “Who would care about that, other than the people here?”

“Yuuri.” Viktor fixes him with a very serious expression. “Phichit Chulanont started a massive trending tag and kept it going for months. People mourned you at Worlds. Everyone missed you.”

“Surely not everyone,” Yuuri mutters.

“Almost everyone,” Viktor insists. He hesitates, then looks earnestly into Yuuri’s eyes. “Especially me.”

Yuuri stares at him. “But why?” he wonders. “You didn’t even recognize me off the ice.”

“I did!” Viktor insists. “I… I don’t know, I have a hard time with people. Other skaters. The only ones I’m close to in any way are my rink mates and Chris Giacometti. I’m sorry if I made you feel badly, at the Grand Prix Finale.”

Yuuri shrugs. “It was just a crummy week for me, you know.”

“Yeah, I heard about your dog,” Viktor says softly. “I think I would have done just as badly, if I’d lost Makkachin suddenly.”

“You lost a dog, though,” Yuuri suddenly remembers. “Mari was telling me about it. You had another dog with you when you came, and it disappeared last night.”

Viktor nods. “Yeah.” He digs in his pocket and unearths his phone, unlocking it so he can pull up his photo album. “Yukkachin. I… named him after you.”

“Why?” Yuuri asks, confused.

“Because the night of the banquet, you changed my life.” Viktor scrolls up to a cluster of photos and enlarges one, swiping through. Yuuri watches in mounting horror as his photographic self gets progressively drunker and drunker, losing more clothes with each picture, and somehow ending up _pole-dancing_ _with Christophe Giacometti? Breakdancing with Yuri Plisetsky???_ Where the hell did this come from?

“I think you take after your dad, from what Minako says,” Viktor comments, his voice neutral, as Yuuri’s hand gripping the phone vibrates with anxiety that he’s barely tamping down.

Viktor swipes to another photo, and Yuuri goes completely still.

It’s him and Viktor, dancing together in the middle of the dancefloor. Their hands are clasped, and Viktor looks happier than Yuuri’s ever seen him. Swipe again, and Yuuri is dipping Viktor, laughing and living in the moment.

Yuuri glances at Viktor, who’s staring at the photo with a soft expression. “I did that?” he asks in disbelief.

“Yeah,” Viktor answers, smiling. “You were wonderful.”

Yuuri doesn’t know how to respond to that, and Viktor continues scrolling through his photo library. Eventually, the pictures are all of what looks like Vicchan, but it’s _not--_

 _Dark, black-brown fur reflected in a steel elevator door… fear and confusion… those are_ my eyes _…!_

_Know your place._

“Oh my god,” Yuuri says as it all begins to come back to him, like the trickling of water through a cracking dam.

“Yuuri?” Viktor asks, but then the floodgates open and suddenly Yuuri is remembering _everything_.

_I… that’s me. I’m that dog in the pictures._

_I was turned into a dog._

“So you remember?”

Yuuri snaps out of what feels like a panic attack and swivels to stare wide-eyed at Viktor, who is looking at him with a measured expression. “You remember me taking you home to St. Petersburg?” Viktor asks.

Yuuri’s head is spinning. “How did you know it was me?”

Viktor smiles wryly. “I didn’t. Was it?”

Yuuri hesitates, then nods slowly. “It was.”

They stare at each other for a moment, and then Viktor’s smile softens. “You were an angel,” he said. “I… when they reported your disappearance, I thought I was going to die. I thought… I thought that maybe that was the universe, telling me I would never…” he trails off, shaking his head. “But then I had a little dog that I named Yukkachin after you, and he wouldn’t leave my side. Like he knew how much I was hurting, and he didn’t want to see me sad.”

Yuuri blinks, and is almost unsurprised to find his eyes watering.

Viktor laughs, scratching at the back of his head. “It’s so silly, isn’t it?”

“I… named my dog after you too,” Yuuri admits, and meets Viktor’s eyes, only mostly shyly.

“Really?” Viktor breathes. “What a coincidence.”

“I’ve idolized you for most of my life,” Yuuri tells him, and now that he’s talking it’s like he can’t stop. “You’ve been my hero ever since I first saw you twelve years ago. You’re the reason I wanted to skate all those years ago. You’ve been my inspiration all this time. All I wanted was to skate on the same ice as you, and I messed it up.”

“You had a good reason,” Viktor reassures him.

Yuuri shrugs, ducking his head. “Well, if I’ve been gone all these months, my career is probably in the gutter. Maybe I should retire after all.”

“Absolutely _not_ ,” Viktor says suddenly, and Yuuri looks up at him in surprise.

Viktor shakes his head. “Yuuri, you are _not_ done with your career,” he insists. “I know you have it in you to keep going.” He bites his lip, and then leans in towards Yuuri. “While you were… indisposed, I retired. I’ve… been doing a lot of soul-searching. I thought I had nothing else to offer to the ice. But now I know that isn’t true.”

Is Viktor going to… un-retire? Is he going to make a comeback? Yuuri suddenly recalls a conversation he’d overheard as a dog, about how he’d inspired Viktor. His heart leaps into his throat.

“You asked me, at the banquet.” Viktor’s pale cheeks begin to flush. _Oh god, he’s a pretty blusher._ “You asked me to coach you,” Viktor goes on, and Yuuri’s entire brain grinds to a halt.

“I did _what_?” he demands, eyes wide.

“I’ll do it,” Viktor says at the same time. They stare at each other before Viktor adds, “if you’ll have me.”

“I… I mean, I… I don’t…” Yuuri rubs at his forehead, feeling lightheaded. “I mean, I would love to--”

“Really?” Viktor’s face lights up, and he takes Yuuri’s hands in his own.

Yuuri can’t resist those eyes. “Yes, really,” he says, surprised at his own decisiveness.

The smile on Viktor’s face is so sweet, Yuuri suddenly realizes he would do _anything_ to keep it there.

“There’s… I have school to finish,” Yuuri points out. “And I have to deal with the fallout of my sudden reappearance. I had another coach, before.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Viktor agrees, nodding.

“And… I need to get back into shape,” Yuuri adds. He pokes at his midsection. Not as bad as it could be, but definitely chunkier than he’d been in Sochi. “I think you overindulged me a little with those treats.”

“Oh, but your face was so sweet. I couldn’t help but spoil you!”

Yuuri blushes furiously. “Ah. Thanks?”

Viktor beams, and squeezes his hand. “I know you can do it,” he says. “After all, you’ve already done the impossible.” He waggles his eyebrows, and it’s so cheesy-looking that Yuuri has to giggle.

Yuuri smiles wryly, but he can’t deny Viktor’s words. “Only if you’ll stay by my side,” he replies instead.

Viktor laughs, a beautiful, sparkling, _real_ laugh. “There’s nowhere I’d rather be.”

 

**THE END!**

 

[P.S.]

“We can discuss my coaching fees later,” Viktor tells him later on, as Yuuri is climbing into the onsen with him.

“Your _what?!_ ”

Viktor smiles and taps his lips. “Later.”

Yuuri stares straight ahead, grimacing. “All right then.”

 

[P.P.S.]

“You know,” Viktor says much, much later on, at dinner, “I think I might have forgotten something.”

(A few days afterwards, somewhere in Russia, the news hits that Viktor is staying in Hasetsu for the foreseeable future in order to coach the miraculously reappeared skater Katsuki Yuuri. Yuri Plisetsky yells in fury, throws his phone at his bedroom wall, and angrily pulls up a booking website for the next possible flight to Japan.)

“I’ll think of it later,” Viktor decides.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HERE'RE A FEW THINGS THAT I HAD NO IDEA OF HOW TO WRITE INTO THE STORY! (SPOILERS. SO MANY SPOILERS. SERIOUSLY.)
> 
> 1: why was Yuuri so out of it and dazed when he got home again? Because he literally broke the curse himself, and that took a lot out of him! You try mentally warping reality and keeping your sanity intact right away! But yeah, it's all good. (Shoutout to Kate Miller-Heidke for her song "Sarah" and her depiction of being abducted by faeries, that's literally what was running in my head while planning this.)
> 
> 2: lots of people were asking me what would have happened if Viktor had chosen to get Yukkachin fixed. Uh. Well. Put your minds at ease, friends. Yuuri's private bits would have been restored once he changed back. Note that he came back wearing his clothes from the banquet? His true form was kind of tucked away in hammerspace, he hasn't actually gained weight from being spoiled as a poodle, and he's just being too hard on himself.
> 
> 3: as I mentioned above, I completely 100% pulled the process for bringing dogs into Japan right out of my ass. It actually takes much longer - a dog has to be vaccinated 6 months before being brought into the country; if they aren't then they have to be quarantined for 20 days. But that didn't fit the timeline of this fic... OR of canon, either. [eyes YOI writing team] PLOT HOLE~~~
> 
> 4: it's safe to assume that Yuuri and Viktor's relationship is very different at this point than the corresponding point in canon. How different? You'll see. Because...
> 
> 5: THERE IS MORE CONTENT. Yeah, you guys, if you enjoyed the concept of Baleful Polymorph Yuuri Katsuki, HAVE I GOT GOOD NEWS FOR YOU. This story is officially getting a short sequel! Be on the lookout for it!
> 
> 6: there are also 2 alternative endings that I ended up not using for this. They're both varying degrees of sad, and I do plan on writing them out so you all can see What Could Have Been. If you enjoyed the angst, these outtakes will be for you!
> 
> 7: this is the HAPPY ENDING, and it is dedicated to Selen, Nic, Stacie, Bri, and everyone else who cried at me and wished pointedly for the happy ending. You guys know me too well. But for the longest time it was going to be the bittersweet ending (you'll see) and I'm... I'm actually happier that this is the "official" ending. So. Yeah. Peace!
> 
> 8: if anybody is reading this and finding the strength to get help for themselves like Viktor did, know that I am so proud of you for that. It's so hard but it's so worth it, and I support you 100000%. You deserve happiness.
> 
> 9: did you guys spot the girl that cursed Yuuri? She did pop up in this chapter! See if you can find her! (I'm not that clever, it's really obvious.)
> 
> If you want to come talk to me about this fic, or any of my AU's (I HAVE MANY) then feel free to hit me up on [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/linneakou) or [tumblr](http://linneakou.tumblr.com). I love talking fic. LOVE IT!!


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